Knuts and Sickles
by flyinghorizons
Summary: What remains but has been forgotten often bites us at the best times, What must be forgotten but remains often plagues us at the worst times. Enemies appear where there were none, laws enacted centuries ago emerge from darkness, and a government threatens to collapse under the weight of past mistakes. Can the original Three weather the storm?
1. Prologue

**Prologue: Dirk Cresswell**

The portraits lining the corridors of the fourth level of the Ministry of Magic were slumbering peacefully. Distinguished faces did not move even as Hermione's high heels clacked against the floor. With distaste, she glanced down at them: shining, smoothly contoured shoes that seemed almost alive as they clung to the curves of her feet. Every step sent waves of _clack clack clack_ into the corridor. She preferred if the lights remained dim; her eyes always hurt after long days. At the end of the corridor, she knew she'd find the Centaur Liaison Office, and close to it, the Goblin Liaison Office.

After the Battle of Hogwarts and the reclamation of the Ministry, Kingsley Shacklebolt had made it a point to honor the deceased Ministry employees- and so, on every level, there were paintings, beautifully painted portraits. In the dim light, Hermione had to walk past every single one. She paused at the very end, peering up at the largest portrait on the wall.

" _Lumos,"_ whispered Hermione. Very slowly, the former Head of the Goblin Liaison Office opened his eyes. There was no hint of drowsiness in his eyes. In the dim light of her wand, Dirk Cresswell stretched his neck.

"You found me easily enough," he said. "You can put that light off now, I can see you. Who gave you the message eventually?"

"Amelia Bones," said Hermione, extinguishing her wand. The former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had very quietly slipped in a word as Hermione exited her office. It had seemed that Amelia Bones had initially not appreciated the occupation of her old office, and the message had been gentle and polite in contrast. The need for secrecy struck Hermione as strange, but she listened nonetheless.

"What did you want to speak to me about? And if I may, why me?"

"Why not you? I heard the announcement- congratulations, by the way, Mrs. Granger. Your new post deserves someone as intelligent as you."

Hermione blushed. Dirk Cresswell's surprising charm took her aback. Several days ago, Hermione had formally become the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Effectively, this put her at the helm of a large but rather troublesome segment of the Ministry. She answered to Kingsley, and Kingsley only.

"No, I only meant that I didn't expect the former Head of the Goblin Liaison Office to require my services. What can I do from my department?"

"Well, it is _your_ Department now. You can do great things, can you not?"

In the fading light, Hermione nodded, still fairly puzzled. Dirk Cresswell was a pleasure to speak to, for sure, but was there a good reason for this conversation?

"What do you need, Sir?" she asked, finally.

He regarded her sternly.

"Do you have any idea what happened with my Department before the Battle of Hogwarts?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Do you have any idea who succeeded me after I was killed?"

Hermione shook her head again, feeling rather stunned that she had not tried to find out.

"I was told you were smart. Do you perceive my former job to be simple?"

"No," said Hermione quickly. "I actually think it's incredibly interesting. I remember writing essays for Professor Binns on the Goblin Wars; I had to do plenty of reading up to understand the Wizengamot's decisions and how they enforced the Goblins into..."

"Servitude. A milder word for it must have been used in your _History of Magic_ textbook, and I doubt Binns said it any better."

"No," she said quietly.

"For your information, _nobody_ succeeded me after I was killed. It took a long while for Shacklebolt to find someone. Not that _that_ has resulted in anything good.. Lord Voldemort had no use for the goblins, you see. Under his reign, there would be no separation of departments. Under his reign, laws, creatures, gold, all would be under his thumb. Can you see why that would have eventually destroyed the world he wanted to create?"

"There are lines drawn for a reason. Rules that keep society civil."

"Rules that keep society _alive,_ " Cresswell corrected.

"If gold was managed by the Ministry, things would go haywire. Voldemort, I assume, would have redirected all finances to the things _he_ considered important. Keeping half-bloods dead and pure-bloods alive, perhaps. Eventually, there would be no more gold left. He would attempt to ransack the vaults, but none know the secrets of Gringotts save for the oldest Goblins. Goblins that hold secrets older than Salazar Slytherin himself- _real_ treasures that have been hidden away for centuries and centuries.

"And they would refuse to cave in, for they would rather die than betray their kind. And in the process, the Dark Lord would have massacred the creatures that hold the most power in the magic world."

Hermione frowned.

"The goblins are bound by laws to wizards- the power they possess depends on the law, doesn't it? And as per law, goblins and house elves are the same- oppressed communities," she said, remembering her days at the helm of SPEW, or the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.

"Externally, it may seem that goblins are oppressed. Textbooks may tell you that they are entirely subservient to us. But the truth of it is far off, Mrs. Granger. Far off."

Cresswell's soft voice grew softer. Hermione heard the muffled sound of footsteps, far behind her. Cresswell's voice turned urgent.

"We have no time. You cannot be seen here. Listen to me, my child. Come closer."

Hermione edged closer to the frame, turning her ear to his oil-paint mouth.

"When Cornelius Fudge first took office as Minister for Magic, there was a reason he promoted me. I may not be great at combat magic, but the goblins called me Velvet Tongue, and Fudge knew that. When he hired me, things changed. When he hired me, Fudge was not the man he turned into. He had the makings of a great Minister, before fear took hold of him. And he was made Minister for one reason and for one reason only- because he knew he needed to look at the _other_ issues and correct them."

Promptly, Dirk Cresswell sat back in his painting. His eyes were closed, and he was apparently already asleep. His words ringing in her head, Hermione walked out of Level 4 and into the elevator. She had a familiar burning sensation smoldering inside her- a sensation she had felt as a girl at Hogwarts- the urge to _know._ But for the moment, she sorely needed her bed. Even the pangs of nostalgia could not turn her away from the prospect of a soft, comfortable bed.


	2. Chapter 1: Cubs

**Chapter 1: Cubs**

The cold morning air rushing into his face kept James alert and focused. Below him, the Great Lake rippled and moved. Lowering his altitude, his feet skimmed the surface, his red cloak whipping behind him. He spun in the air, hanging upside down from his broom, letting his hair fall over his face. When he could feel trickles of flying droplets wash over his hair, he spun back around and pulled out of the dive, rising high into the clouds.

Higher and higher he rose, until the castle was miniscule. He saw the long bridge that had been repaired and renovated after the Battle of Hogwarts in '98, and wondered how it had looked initially. He could see from his lofty vantage point that the sun had risen behind the mountains, and with a feeling of resignation, he doubled back to the castle, his _Firebolt_ slicing through the air.

The broom's polished handle shone brightly; it seemed to James that the magical charms protecting it would never fade away. Standing before Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley, James and his father were initially rooted to the spot, awe-struck. It had been his fourth year, and he had just been informed by Robert Wood, Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, that _he_ would don the red uniform.

It turned out that his father wasn't as good at shopping as the other parents at Diagon Alley were. From what James could see, Diagon Alley was always crowded at the beginning of a new year. Parents hustled and bustled, their arms loaded with shopping bags containing all sorts of things. He was forced to wait patiently for his Uncle Ron, who, he hoped, had the decisive capability to stop gawking and actually _buy_ something. Unfortunately for James, it turned out that his father and his best friend matched each other perfectly; soon, both men stood gazing at the display at Quality Quidditch Supplies. It was only when his son tugged on his arm did Harry Potter realize that he was no longer shopping for himself at Diagon Alley.

Had James not been brought up in a strictly-Quidditch friendly home, he would have perhaps been as lost as his father. He began reading _Which Broomstick?_ in his First Year, and he began asking for a broom in his Third. Last week's issue had lit a spark deep inside him- a new and improved _Firebolt_ had been released. A world-class broom, once a player and crowd favorite, the old _Firebolt_ could reach speeds nearing a hundred and fifty miles an hour. If his father bought him the new release, it would mean James was being trusted with something very dangerous. The new _Firebolt_ pushed the limits of Quidditch itself- with speeds touching two hundred and twenty.

Fortunately enough, James' father believed in his son- but not without some testing. Before his son received a broom that could travel at breakneck speed, Harry made sure to coach James through the basics of handling a broom _this_ powerful. At first, James had found it hard to believe that Harry Potter was once a Gryffindor Captain. But all his doubts vanished when his father first laid hands on his son's new broom. Dressed in a casual pair of trousers and a sweater, his father did not look like much of a flier. Moments later, James was in shock, a mere observer in a masterclass. His father could take the broom to its top speed and still maintain complete and utter control- as if the broom was unnecessary, and flight was natural.

James had to admit that it took him far longer to master the new _Firebolt._ Now, in his Sixth Year, he finally had the control he needed- the focus and concentration to push this broom to its top speed.

The Great Hall was a storm of activity. Red banners hung over the Gryffindor benches, and people wore their house colors with gusto. On the far side of the hall, the bright greens of Slytherin glowed like emeralds. Wearing a fresh pair of Quidditch robes, his number and name on his back, and his Captain's badge shining in front, James Potter made his way to his friends.

Unknown to him, heads turned as the Sixth Year sauntered past. He hardly noticed the whispers anymore. When Hogwarts had still been new to him, surviving had been priority. Everywhere he looked, there seemed to be someone talking about him, the oldest son of Harry Potter. When he was named Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team in his fourth year, his attention no longer wandered off to the school gossips. He had steadily stopped caring about the weight his name carried, even _if_ both his father and grandfather's names were etched into the castle in some way or the other. He imagined himself as part of a legacy, a legacy he needed to accept without hesitation. Now, in his sixth year, he had been awarded the same honor his father and _his_ father had been given- captaincy.

Alice and Francis were eagerly digging into buttered toast and fried eggs when he seated himself across from them. Bathed in crimson, the three Gryffindors did not even look up when a green-clad Quidditch player clambered into the seat beside James. Looking rather disgruntled and weary, Lucio grabbed a plate of bacon, shoving rashers into his mouth furiously. His Captain's badge glinted on the front of his Slytherin robes.

"What's with you?" asked Alice, gesturing with her fork. Lucio raised his hand, showing her his palm.

"I don't interact with your species," he said flatly, in between mouthfuls.

"My species?" she demanded, with narrowed eyes.

Next to her, Francis chuckled.

"He can't get Dominique to go on a date with him. He's been trying for weeks now. So, he hates women."

James almost choked.

"Dominique? As in- _Dominique?!"_ he exclaimed, spluttering.

"Shhh! You want the entire school to hear?" Lucio asked, looking around frantically.

James pointed his knife at Lucio sternly. His face was dark.

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean, no. Not Dominique. She's family. You leave her alone."

"James! You can't be serious!"

"Are _you?_ " James demanded, turning his body to face the opposing Captain.

Lucio faltered.

"There you go," James said, returning to his plate. "You will not add her to your list of accomplishments, or I swear on all my ancestors, I will Hex you permanently."

Lucio sighed. In truth, James knew that Dominique would never take a liking to Lucio. He glanced up the table, his eyes finding the slender Weasley girl. Her fiery red hair was streaked with silver, and her features looked more Veela and less human. He would never tell Lucio, but James recalled his cousin calling him "deplorable, disgusting, and a slattern of the lowest order".

"Fine. Fine."

"Zabini, how about sitting with your team for a moment before the match?" a voice carried across the hall.

Lucio turned to grimace at the entire Slytherin Quidditch Team, seated in a cluster. In contrast, James' team was scattered all over the Great Hall. When Lucio got to his feet, James did too. The two Captains shook hands, hugging briefly. There was no tension in the handshake; rather, they broke off chuckling.

"Keep your mind off Dominique for a little bit, or I'll wipe the floor with you," James added in a serious voice. Lucio snorted before rejoining his team.

Feeling rather unprofessional because his team was nowhere to be found, James looked around. He spotted a few of them sitting together near a window, and he found Rose sipping Pumpkin juice. She was so small, it was hard for him to notice her at all. Behind her, his little sister stood, her hands immersed in the voluminous fire that was Rose's hair. With swift precision, Lily tied her cousin's hair into a tight bun. When Rose Weasley got to her feet, it was to a round of applause. Dressed in her Keeper's uniform, she was still small and not exactly intimidating. James could tell that his fellow Gryffindors had not forgotten the last match, even though it had been a year ago- Hufflepuff had been a dangerous opponent with chasers that outstripped theirs, but Rose Weasley had nimbly protected her three goal hoops. Having shut out her opponents for the entire game, James found the Snitch easily enough; his mind was stress-free and calm when Rose hovered before the goals. Now in her third year at Hogwarts, Rose was turning out to be the Keeper of a lifetime. In fact, James had heard Professor Longbottom mention to the other teachers that his Uncle Ron had, at one point, been an accomplished keeper, but his little daughter apparently gave him a run for his money.

A crash of clapping filled the hall as Lucio led his team out of the hall. James returned to his plate. He held a piece of buttered toast to his lips, but he only saw the green glow of the Quidditch pitch. Now that it came down to it, he felt slightly nervous, especially after watching Captain Zabini lead his team out. Lucio had the distinct ability to change his general behavior at a moment's notice, going from a lusty teenager to a grim team captain in an instant. James imagined that even Dominique was no longer in Lucio's mind. In fact, he doubted his friend would even notice his beloved in this serious state. James had long since stopped himself from comparing his capabilities with Lucio's- the feeling of convincing himself that he was _better_ made him feel worse.

Somehow, in the process of finishing his last piece of toast, he had been surrounded by his teammates. When he looked up, he was ringed by serious faces. In contrast, Rose was glowing, her face as well as her flaming hair. Albert and Simon, his chasers, looked the grimmest of the lot. James wiped the crumbs from his face before rising and seating himself atop the table. They stared at him patiently. He had to be grateful for that; Lucio's team seemed all but done with his lax nature. Or perhaps, they knew where his energy was truly invested, like James did.

"I have nothing to say except that I want all of you to forget the last match." Rose's tiny eyebrows furrowed into a tiny frown, but Albert and Simon seemed to release a pent up amount of breath.

"We have a phenomenal team here. We can't get carried away. And this is the first of the season, we don't want to lose focus here, okay?" said James, his mind on the golden trophy he wanted to hold again. It was true- Gryffindor's Quidditch record had been perfect for an entire year. It was this that frightened James, for it reminded him of his predecessor. Like James', Robert Wood's father had been a Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. After they lifted the Cup together last year, James met Oliver Wood, Captain of the Wimbourne Wasps, and treasured the handshake. James knew he was succeeding a legend in Gryffindor Quidditch, for Robert Wood became the top scorer in Hogwarts history in three short years before taking the Captain's badge.

"Slytherin are not as quick as we are- we've practiced this in training. When you're up against stronger players, I don't want a single one of you to engage the opponent. No contact, no fouls, just evade and keep the Quaffle moving. It's a clear day today, Rose, so you have your work cut out for you- Balek and his brother are good with their aim." Balek, the Slytherin Chaser, could hit a target from a mile away. His brother, whose name James had not bothered learning, threw with such ferocity that he feared for Rose's safety.

As he led the team out amid applause, he quietly told Michael, a six foot tall fourth year and his Beater, to keep his eye on Rose at all times. He had a mental image carved into his mind- of his Uncle Ron glowering at him from Rose's hospital wing bed. Noting that winning the game wasn't as important as keeping Rose Weasley safe, James sighed.

When he and the Gryffindors took their place in the tunnel, Lucio smiled. Behind him, Balek grinned at James. The tension was mounting, but both teams disguised their nerves. James could not focus, all of a sudden. His Aunt and Uncle's angry faces floated at the forefront of his mind, so much so that he kept turning to see if Rose was still there. He started when Lucio nudged him in the ribs, leaning in.

"I've told my guys to keep it civil. Clean game, no unseating your little cousin," he whispered. James smiled gratefully, feeling relieved. "In fact," Lucio continued, "little Rosie's not going to even _touch_ the Quaffle."

James snorted. A whistle blew from somewhere ahead, and the two teams, Gryffindor led by James Potter and Slytherin by Lucio Zabini, walked out into the clear sunlight and cheering crowd. Even though both had the Snitch on their minds, when Madame Hooch, wrinkled and old as she was, signaled them to shake hands, they grinned at each other in satisfaction. They had come this far, James realized, as he grasped his best friend's hand. From being young Seekers on rival teams to captaining their sides, James and Lucio had done it all, it seemed. Lucio seemed to be thinking much the same; to a roar of appreciative applause, the Slytherin Captain hugged his friend.

Gripping his wife's hand tightly, a bespectacled man dressed in black robes watched his son lead his team on to the pitch. His scar visible on his forehead, Harry Potter found he was as tense as he had been when _he_ led his team out. Without realizing it, a tear dripped down his cheek, and Ginny smiled, her hand brushing his face lightly. He had now seen what his father had never been able to see- his own son succeeding him. James Potter, holding his head high, almost ignorant to the tumultuous applause, was a sight to behold. Even though Harry had eyes for no one else, Lucio _did_ carve an impressive figure. Three rows below, he could see Blaise Zabini's high cheekbones and smooth skin as the man applauded his son.

"In all my years, I have never seen a Potter child comb his hair," a familiar voice said. Harry turned to see Minerva McGonagall a row above him, chortling with the new Head of Gryffindor, Hestia Jones. Hestia grinned at Harry childishly, waving as the dimple on her cheek appearing and disappearing from view.

"I try," admitted Ginny, extracting another gale of laughter from McGonagall.

"THAT'S MY GIRL! COME ON, ROSE!" bellowed Ron from Ginny's side. His explosive voice carried all over the stadium, and Harry could see his daughter squirm in embarrassment as she took her position in front of the goal hoops.

It was only when the whistle blew and the Quaffle soared that Harry noticed Hermione's absence. He had never missed a single one of James' matches, and Hermione had been his steadfast companion. For the first time, her seat was empty. In the chaos of the match, her absence slipped out of his mind. He mentally reminded himself to ask Hermione later.

He spotted James easily by his black hair, but it was hard to keep track of his movement. James was fluid on the _Firebolt,_ zipping between players, scanning the skies. On the far side, Blaise Zabini's striking son hovered, his head flitting left and right.

"Ten zero to Gryffindor!" a voice on a megaphone echoed, and a resounding cheer emanated from the red stand. The scoreboard quivered before the scores magically changed.

Still, James circled high in the sky, while his counterpart remained motionless. Both Captains did not make sudden moves; Harry knew the Seekers were secretly watching each other, waiting for someone to make a move. It was a situation he had been in numerous times, and he had _always_ moved in for the kill first. Harry had never waited for Draco Malfoy to make the first move; it didn't bother him one bit to strike first. He stiffened as he remembered coaching James to remain calm as he circled. In a way, James was like Harry- distracted until the right moment. The difference, Harry knew, was that in this match, his son sought to defeat his best friend, not his greatest enemy. Harry wondered how it would have felt, to face Ron in an opposing team. He grimaced to think of it; he had had enough trouble with Ron in his _own_ team, let alone on the other side. Harry was drawn out of his thoughts when the commentator's voice rose in octaves.

"BALEK WITH THE QUAFFLE FOR SLYTHERIN, HE SHOOTS-"

The Gryffindor stand was pin-drop silent for a moment.

"WEASLEY SAVES!"

Ron rose to his feet with the Gryffindors, yelling triumphantly. His daughter had spun in mid-air, her lithe body almost melting together with the broom, and with her right hand, simply picked the Quaffle out of the air. It was bold, brilliant, precise, and confident. Almost instantaneously, Ginny's nails dug into Harry's arm. His head snapped up to see James put a stop to his circular motion. Even from where he sat, Harry saw James whip his hair out of his face as he looked down at Rose holding the Quaffle. As if her save tightened his resolve, James all but disappeared. Hisbroom cut through the air at a dangerous speed, but he was not alone. The crowd gasped as both Seekers climbed high into the clouds, too high to be spotted. Harry's trained eye had caught the glimmer of the Golden Snitch right before James had struck, but Lucio had seen it as fast as his son had. Beside him, Ginny grew tense as she watched her son accelerate. The new _Firebolt_ hit two fifty miles an hour with ease- something that made her quiver with fear every time her son took to the sky.

A few rows down, Blaise was on his feet as well, straining to look into the sky. Harry grinned at Ginny, his fingers interlaced around hers. He felt almost as if James was carrying him, and for some reason, he knew his son would win this game. As he gazed into the clouds, Harry was surprised to find a horrible memory emerging in his mind. He did not know why, but he suddenly had a vivid recollection of his tumble from the clouds and the Dementors of Azkaban swirling around him from above.

James could see nothing but the faint gold shine ahead of him. Its fluttering wings blurred together as it swerved left and right. He could barely see what was around him, and all he could hear was the flapping of his cloak against his body. It was getting colder and colder as he flew upward, but the Snitch refused to change tact. The air around him was becoming so quiet, he could now hear the Snitch's wings. Suddenly, it disappeared, and all was quiet.

James hung motionless in the clouds, his breath issuing steam. He was so tense all of a sudden that he barely moved when Lucio came bursting out. The Slytherin Seeker's _Firebolt_ came to an abrupt stop beside him. Lucio's head turned in all directions before resting on James, whose face was now rigid as stone.

"What, James?" demanded Lucio, his voice hoarse in the chill.

James shook his head, putting a finger to his lips. They could hear nothing now, not even the crowd in the stadium, not even the commentator. The silence seemed strange and accompanied by an odd buzz that filled his ears. At that moment, the silence was ruptured by the faint flap of wings. James and Lucio both blanched as they looked at each other. Their brooms automatically edged closer to one another as the pair drew their wands. The flap of wings came again, but this time, it drove a wedge of fear right into James' heart. This was no owl, he realized. Each flap sounded like it belonged to wings that stretched like giant canvases, so large they could displace massive volumes of air. Lucio and James circled, their backs to each other, their eyes wide, and their wands pointing around them.

" _Incendio,"_ said James, aiming his wand at the perceived source of the noise. Fire leapt out of his wand, exploding within the clouds. As if petrified by the sight, the pair could not move their eyes away from what they saw, for when the fire lit up the sky, they saw the most frightening silhouette they could ever see- huge black wings that looked like castles by themselves. A massive surge of air struck them before the silhouette disappeared. Soon, the air was again filled with howling wind, and not the mysterious buzzing that had piqued James' curiosity. The blanket of silence had been lifted. James immediately remembered why the buzz had sounded so odd in his ears- had his father cast a spell that did the same thing? His heart beating rapidly, he did not remember. Breathing heavily, Lucio looked at James, his eyes grim.

"What the hell was that?"

"After the game," James said, attempting to put it at the back of his mind, but failing utterly to do so.

"Was that a dra-"

Lucio's words were cut short as the Golden Snitch darted past them from above. He stared as it zipped below them. The two Captains nodded at each other, swerving their brooms in the right direction.

"Three," said James.

"Two," said Lucio.

"ONE!" they both yelled, _Firebolts_ slicing through the wind together.

When they emerged from the canopy of clouds, the Snitch feet below, the crowd began to yell and shout for all their worth. James could distinctly hear his Uncle's voice egg him on as he tailed the winged ball. Lucio matched every turn with a sharper turn, until they were side by side. The Snitch dipped in altitude before it plummeted straight down into the mess of players below. Like ants on a shattered ant-hill, both teams scattered as the _Firebolts_ cut through them like melting ice. The Snitch wove through the stands, and James and Lucio dutifully followed.

As the golden ball emerged from the stands, James saw something clearly- a fruitless path. The Snitch veered left, and James very slightly raised his chest from the handle of his broom. Though it was surely not a visible reduction in speed, he could feel the broom slow down with effort. With a little luck, if James was right in his estimation, the Snitch would have nowhere to go but towards Rose Weasley, hanging in front of the goal hoops. Lucio edged ahead, his arm outstretched. At that moment, the Snitch realized that it was traveling headlong into the main stand. It swerved violently, and Lucio adjusted as much as he could, but it was too late. James was prepared for the sharp turn. He took it, his body pressing against the handle of the broom, his entire frame becoming a blur as he struggled closer and closer to the Snitch.

Without knowing it, he had been in a steep dive. He hurtled towards the ground in a blur, but he did not see the ground. His eyes were on the golden ball, and he only noticed the ground once his fingers grasped cold metal. It felt like it was far too late, but James adjusted his body as quickly as he could. In that instant, he recalled his morning flight across the lake, and he would've smiled to himself, had he had the time. He pulled out of the dive with ease- spinning upside down to shift his trajectory. He felt his long hair brush the ground, and when he rose back into the air, he heard a collective sigh. He hung motionless for a moment, until an arm grabbed his and thrust it into the air, displaying the Snitch for all to see. Lucio's face was of complete shock; the loss seemed to have not registered yet, it seemed. The crowd screamed with approval, waving fists and cheering on the two captains as they stood side by side.

A ring of red surrounded him, and he was pulled into a bear-hug so tight he could hardly breathe. When he looked up at the main stand, he could see his father- on his feet, clapping very slowly. His mother was on her feet too, but she clutched the end of the stand with her hands. A small fist pummeled his stomach suddenly. Rose Weasley stood before him, her face full of fury.

"That was dangerous," she said. "Too dangerous."

Frowning, James realized he probably had no idea how close he had come to hitting the ground. Lucio's shocked face made sense. With a start, he realized he could no longer see his friend through the red mass around him. The stands were emptying, and in one long line, children were exiting the stadium. He made his way out of the mob until he found the occupants of the main stand grouped on the grass. Almost immediately, his mother crushed him in an embrace, right before she smacked him hard on the arm. A frighteningly vicious expression on her face, all it took to scare him was her gaze. Beside her, Rose dangled from her father's shoulders. A hand pressed on his shoulder from behind. The soft pressure made him glance up and into his father's face. James prepared himself for another lecture. Instead, Harry leaned down, his mouth inches from James' ear.

"That was some brilliant flying. That last dive…I'm so proud of you, James," said his father, as his wife glowered. James grinned.

"Thanks, Dad," he said.

From where he was, James could see Lucio. At the very entrance to the castle, the Slytherin Captain stood quite motionless, his face gaunt. Instantly, a winged silhouette flitted across his vision, and he remembered the abyss of clouds the Snitch had taken him to. In that moment, he no longer cared about the win, and he didn't think Lucio cared for the loss. Lucio made a signal with his right hand that James immediately recognized, before disappearing into the castle.

After hugging his parents goodbye, James sprinted breathlessly up the stairs. The Gryffindor tower was crowded with people making their way through the portrait, but James ignored them all, even as they turned to cheer him on. The Fat Lady issued him hearty congratulations before he shouted her down. Every time she saw him, she felt the need to point out how similar he looked to his father. And sometimes, she'd mention how his hair reminded him of that 'frightful Sirius Black'.

"Mad eye!" he yelled, before she made an indignant face and the portrait swung open. James clambered in, trying as hard as he could to avoid contact. Halfway up the stairs above the common room, James saw red, and he tumbled to the ground. When he opened his eyes, Dominique Weasley was standing above him, a Gryffindor scarf curled around her neck.

"You saw the match?" asked James, bewildered. Dominique usually never bothered attending Quidditch matches, preferring to sit in the common room with a book. It was for this reason alone that James was so sure she would never fall for Lucio; she never interacted with him in person, so all in all, she'd never truly know him beyond the slattern she thought he was. Dominique nodded, her glimmering hair falling over her shoulders as she helped him to his feet.

"Congratulations," she said, a playful smile on her lips. "Dealt your friend quite the defeat."

"I sense that satisfies you in some way," said James, chuckling.

"It does," she said, smirking as she ventured down the stairway.

Remembering that he needed to escape the slowly- unfolding party in the common room, James found himself rummaging in his drawer. With a yell of triumph, he quickly deposited a piece of fading parchment in his back pocket. He stripped off his Quidditch gear and thrust his broom under his bed, almost running headlong into Francis and Alice.

By the time the three of them arrived outside the Owlery, Lucio had been sitting there for quite a bit. His head hung down between his knees, and he looked dismal. It pained James to see him this way, because he knew there were some conversations he could never have with Lucio Zabini. Consoling him over today's defeat was one of those things. When he looked up, James could see the sadness in his eyes. He wondered, at the back of his mind, if Lucio had spotted Dominique in the stands. Knowing better than to bring it up, James instead knelt and unraveled the parchment he had brought from the confines of his messy Gryffindor dorm room.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," said James, tapping the surface of the rather ancient parchment. Immediately, like color blossoming in water, lines of ink began forming a network, creating corridors, rooms, bridges, and finally, numerous pairs of feet. Instantly, Lucio's expression transformed. The Marauder's Map seemed to have that effect on all four of them, not because it was magical and mysterious, but because it made them feel like they held a piece of history.

On holiday after his very first year at Hogwarts, James had never planned on digging through his father's things, but spotting the map had changed his life. Truthfully, the life-changing part presented itself much later. He had been investigating the map as quietly as he could, in a corner of Godric's Hollow he had personally thought was hidden from view. It _had_ been hidden, until an intruder in the form of his Uncle found him out. There was no time to hastily stow it away; pretending like it was a regular piece of parchment seemed the best way to go. But before he could utter a word, Ron Weasley sat down beside him.

"I know what is," he said, chortling at James' apparently innocent expression. James looked at his Uncle, his jaw dropping. He handed him the parchment, and Ron promptly tapped it with his wand, muttering "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

"After '98, Hogwarts changed a lot," Ron had said, scanning the map. "The war destroyed much of what I was used to seeing, and I don't think the makers planned on Hogwarts being broken down, honestly. Shame."

Ron had then raised the map to the sky, looking at it fondly.

"Not really surprised that Harry kept this, though," he said. "Got us out of quite a few situations."

"How much did you use it?" asked James.

"Are you kidding? All the time. Harry didn't go anywhere without this beauty. Hermione hated it in the beginning, wanted to report it to McGonagall, if I remember right."

"Professor McGonagall?!" asked James, stunned. Just how old _was_ the Headmistress?

"Yes, McGonagall. She was Head of Gryffindor before the war."

"And how did my Dad get it in the first place?"

"Funny story, actually. Fred and George stole it from Filch's stores, a long time ago. They gave it to Harry in our third year, and he's had it since then," said Ron. Looking at his nephew's blank face, he added, "Argus Filch was Hogwarts Caretaker for a long while. Right pain in the arse, that man."

James had heard endless tales of Fred and George's Hogwarts fame, and this only heightened his respect for his uncles. He had never asked for details, though, because every time Fred's name was brought up, it felt like a gentle sadness crept into Ron's eyes.

"Messrs. Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail," James murmured, tracing the names with his fingers. "Who were these four?"

Ron had only smiled. James could have sworn he saw a glint of a tear in his Uncle's eye.

"Ask your father. I don't think he'll be too miffed that you took this," said Ron. "Let's just say you're probably meant to have it."

When James Potter walked out of his hidden alcove, he walked out with his Uncle, but he walked out feeling rather different than when he walked in. He gazed at the map in wonder, his mind spinning with the endless possibilities it gave him. The knowledge that his father, his uncle, and his aunt had ventured through the castle of Hogwarts with this in their possession gave him immense pride. Even when Ron had told him that the map may not be of much use anymore, it had not wounded this feeling.

He went straight to his father, whose eyes narrowed as he noted the browning parchment in his grasp. A cheeky grin lit up his face, and Harry Potter began to laugh. James, confused, watched as his uncle and father collapsed in gales of laughter, and he had no idea why.

"How much have you told him?" asked his father.

"Not much, he knows what it does," replied Ron.

It had been quite a while since that day, but James still felt jitters going down his spine when he held the map in his hands. He had seen pictures of his deceased family members before, but no face showed up more vividly in his mind than the faces of James Potter I, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin. It was in these moments that James understood the name he had inherited. He wondered how often his grandfather had snuck around Hogwarts, this map illuminating his way. Now, when James spoke to Teddy Lupin, he spoke with reverence, for Teddy's father had been one of the privileged four. From what his father told him, James gathered that Remus Lupin had spearheaded the whole thing, and without his brains, it would not have been possible.

His Uncle Ron had been right and wrong- the Marauder's Map still functioned extraordinarily well, but there were spots where the ink had been blurred out. Still holding the map in awe, regardless of its lack of completion, James and Lucio decided to tenuously correct the map. It took them a few weeks to entirely understand the magic that went behind its making- but once that was done, charting out Hogwarts' new renovations proved to be a terribly interesting task. In the beginning, it had been frustrating, because neither of them understood how to modify old magic- how would they improve the Marauders' creation? James received unexpected help in this regard- it turned out that his Aunt Hermione no longer disapproved of it. In fact, without her assistance, James would have been stuck with an incomplete map. The map he opened up now was a new Marauder's Map, with no evidence of the 1998 Battle of Hogwarts staining it.

Francis and Alice wore expressions of puzzlement as James and Lucio examined the Hogwarts grounds and the Forbidden Forest. With disappointment, they withdrew, and James folded it up.

"Well, it didn't stay for long," said James, grimacing.

"We don't know what _it_ is. And we also don't know if it would have shown up in the map," replied Lucio.

" _What_ are you two on about?" exclaimed Alice. Once James explained what they had seen up in the clouds, her mouth was agape.

"But do you think- a dragon?!" asked Francis, frowning. "I don't think a dragon can enter Hogwarts premises."

"It shouldn't be able to. There's a barrier preventing it from happening," said Alice. Lucio and James were silent. Had they _both_ seen something that wasn't there? The pair frowned, feeling stupid for trying to find a dragon on the Marauder's Map and feeling stupider for not being able to prove what they had clearly seen.

James spent the rest of the day on his own, treasuring the isolated corners of Hogwarts on a holiday. Once the tension of the missing dragon had devolved, Lucio sank back into his depressive state. Francis and Alice, after failing to persuade James to join them, retired to the library, where they dolefully finished off their Potions essays on the properties of boomslang skin. He fought an urge to return to the sky, just to check, but the thought of actually _finding_ the dragon stayed him. And in all honesty, James was not entirely confident in his _Firebolt's_ ability to outfly a dragon. He stared at the map, lying down in his bed, watching students and teachers move to and fro, before he gave into fatigue and closed his eyes.


	3. Chapter 2: The Unleashing

**Chapter 2: The Unleashing**

Slowly but elegantly, Madam Rosmerta wove her way through the sea of people at her pub. On her left hand rested a carefully balanced tray, on which were two steaming drinks. At the very end of the room, she drew a pair of night-blue curtains, revealing the forms of two Hogwarts Professors, and before they could look up, she had disappeared, leaving their drinks on the table. One man was built like an athlete, tall and lean. A well-grown beard covered his lower-face, and his eyes were a light brown. His counterpart was relatively larger, and possessed a seemingly endless forest instead of a beard.

Neville Longbottom was well-groomed for the most part, but the noticeable smell of herbs wafted off his clothes. In fact, Neville smelled much like a Potions Master's store cupboard. A silver wedding ring on his hand glinted as Rosmerta's yellow lights hung close to the table. Rubeus Hagrid, Neville noted, had less gray hairs flecking his beard and hair than when he last saw him. He remembered a time several months before he left for Brazil, when Hagrid had emerged at breakfast with unmistakably dyed hair. Scowling at Neville, who attempted to muffle his sniggering, he then admitted that he was meeting Madame Maxime at _The Three Broomsticks_ that afternoon. Neville looked around, struggling to keep the laughter down once again, but Madame Maxime was nowhere in _The Three Broomsticks_ this afternoon.

"Busy day for Rosmerta, isn't it?" asked Neville, reaching out for the Firewhisky.

"Ter' tell you the truth, this is how it is every day!" said Hagrid, chuckling, taking a deep swig of his drink, and promptly putting out a little fire that sprouted in his beard. If one tried to look for them, wrinkles could be seen on Rubeus Hagrid's cheerfully flushed face. His Giant blood protected him, for a time, from the marks of age, but at this moment, Hagrid looked exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot, as if they had been open for far too long, and every reach he made for his glass seemed an effort.

If Hagrid were tired, he made no mention of it. He was, Neville had realized, quite possibly the best listener in the world. Hagrid, if he were truly interested in something, could listen for hours, while gulping his drinks noisily. For the past two hours, Neville had been answering every one of his old Professor's questions about Brazil. It had been not four hours since he had returned to Hogwarts, but he was content with spend it telling Hagrid about the incredible experience he had had. He had, in short, achieved a lifelong goal. It was something he had revealed solely to Hermione Granger, because only she had asked him what his future looked like to him after the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Professor Sprout told me about a wizarding school in South America. Castlebruxo, in Brazil. I'd like to go there one day," he had said. He had never forgotten.

He started off writing letters at first, attempting to foster some sort of relationship between Hogwarts and Castlebruxo. If his letters were read, he received no proof of it, for the school's teachers were as taciturn as the owls that delivered the letters. But three months ago, all of a sudden, Neville had woken up at half past three in the morning, and he didn't know why. And then, he heard an odd scurrying noise, like very small claws scratching the floor. Before he could find the source of the noise, it disappeared altogether. When he checked his chambers, he found a scroll on his desk, wound together by golden thread. It had taken a while, but Castlebruxo had finally heard his plea. From there, it had been a simple thing to get the Ministry approvals necessary for such an expedition. The Department of Magical Education was excited; it became evident, for they immediately opened up the possibility of a staff member of Castlebruxo coming to Hogwarts in exchange. It made complete sense, and it spared McGonagall the need to find a Herbology replacement. Neville had heard from his children that Professor Maximino reminded them of Firenze the Centaur, because he seemed extremely spaced out. He could not picture the type of person Maximino was, because the only spaced out he knew was Luna Lovegood.

Professor Longbottom had arrived at Hogsmeade Station that day feeling utterly disappointed that he couldn't have stayed at Castlebruxo for longer. Of course, that was as rare a possibility as Hannah letting him. He hadn't seen his wife and children for a very long time, but it had been the easiest answer to give Hagrid when the two bumped into each other outside _The Three Broomsticks._ Hagrid was eager to hear of his old student's adventures, but Neville was beginning to notice the fatigue in his old teacher's eyes.

"What's going on, Hagrid? Why does it look like you've gotten no sleep in all these months I've been away?" asked Neville, sipping Firewhisky.

"Glad yeh' brought it up," grunted Hagrid, lowering his voice. "Rosmerta!" his voice boomed across the tavern.

"What are you doing?"

"Payin'," said Hagrid, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but why?" asked Neville, frowning.

"I want ter' show you somethin', Professor Longbottom. It's why I suggested we get a drink in the firs' place!"

The unlikely pair made their way through the noisy tavern and out into the sunshine, Neville's luggage floating noiselessly behind him like a tail. They walked all the way to Hagrid's cabin, the half-giant still persistently refusing to answer direct questions. Neville struggled to keep up with his large strides; the years moved on, but Hagrid was still Hagrid. They stopped momentarily at his cabin, as he opened the door and disappeared into the small cottage, Neville's luggage floating in behind him. He reappeared with a familiar crossbow in his large grip. Nodding at the Herbology Professor, he promptly strode towards the Forbidden Forest. Mystified, Professor Longbottom followed. To his relief, as they wound their way deeper in, Hagrid began to talk.

"While yeh've been off with those Brazilians, things have changed here," he said, though Neville could see nothing different. As they went deeper in, less light filtered through the trees, until it felt as though they walked through morning and afternoon in the space of two minutes. The Forest looked much the same as it always had been- dark and buzzing. Neville frowned as Hagrid strode on relentlessly. A few times, the Care of Magical Creatures Professor gave him a knowing look, and the latter struggled quickly to notice some sign in the Forest around him, but he did not see it. The trees were trees and the plants were plants. Hellebore and Wolfsbane were unchanged, Asphodel plants lay scattered exactly where Neville remembered they were, so what was Hagrid talking about?

In front of him, Hagrid grunted, and Neville stopped, his feet coming to a complete standstill as his eyes widened. The big Professor turned to face Neville as the latter examined his surroundings. Everywhere he looked, there was evidence of violence. When he ran a finger over the ripped barks of many trees, he remembered Castlebruxo; the students and teachers learned a great deal by touch, and they touched everything they saw under the rainforest canopies. The bark was shredded like paper, and everywhere around him, there was carnage. Burn marks singed the grassy floor, deep gouges in the sand told of claws or talons, and the trees had been destroyed completely. Chunks of forest floor had been pulled out entirely. The numb silence of the area surprised Neville, because he had always had the impression that, unseen to them, creatures constantly moved around in the Forbidden Forest. But now, all was quiet, as if a mass migration of creatures had occurred. Neville looked at Hagrid, aghast.

"What did this?"

Hagrid shrugged.

"No clue, Neville. But I've got to tell yeh', this is nothing. It goes on inter' the forest. Everythin' looks like it's been attacked."

Neville did not want to see the rest of the destruction, and so the pair made their way back to the castle. Ruminating over what dangers lurked in the Forbidden Forest these days, he found himself walking right into the cottage wall before Hagrid caught his shoulder, steering him right. It was with a heavy mind that Professor Longbottom waved his wand and made his luggage follow him as he made the journey to the castle. He cheered himself up when he realized that tomorrow, he would see Francis and Alice.

Unmoving and observant, Hermione realized that today had been the first day in many that she had not thought of Dirk Cresswell and his mysterious conversation with her. Her research had come to a standstill; an unprecedented change occurred within the Ministry, a change that required her direct involvement. The large room had filled up very quickly, for none had wanted to miss this. Arranged around a single steel chair, the entire Wizengamot seemed to squirm with tension. Beside her, the Minister for Magic sat as if he were set in stone. The Wizengamot was quiet, listening to the Undersecretary read from a piece of parchment. Eyes flitted between the reading young woman and the man chained to the chair in the very center of the room. Once she was done, the Wizengamot focused their collective gaze on the Minister.

Had Hermione not had so many familiar faces around her, she would not have been able to go through with the trial at all. Leaning very stiffly against a bench, Harry held his wand loosely in his hand, the other fingering a lock of hair. Of the entire room, Harry was closest to the chair. Behind him, standing quite erect and disciplined, were three Hit Wizards, identically dressed in robes and gloves black as night. The room had never been more full- or perhaps, thought Hermione, it had been during fifteen year old Harry Potter's trial. But it truly did seem like there were more people than usual. The trial had garnered far more interest than expected, and Rita Skeeter's scathing 'delayed justice' pieces across _The Daily Prophet_ had done nothing but fuel this interest.

Not sitting but leaning on the wall at the far end of the room was a surprising figure- Hermione had not realized that Percy Weasley was present. With folded arms, Percy was staring intensely into the middle of the room. Kingsley nodded at Percy, who tipped his head forward in acknowledgement. Nothing _this_ interesting had happened in a very long time, Hermione had to admit, if Percy Weasley had found the need to attend the trial. The Head of the Department of Mysteries was usually absent from a trial unless it required his immediate attention. But this- this was different. It required all their attention.

"Answer the question, Greyback," Kingsley's deep voice boomed. "Did Voldemort assign you a secret task?"

Causing the entire room to shudder, Fenrir Greyback threw back his head, wild laughter echoing off the walls. His hair was longer, dangling down in an untidy mess. His teeth, even in human form, seemed filed to perfect sharpness. Hermione noted that with age, the werewolf's intimidating physical presence had only increased. Greyback continued laughing, sending chills down Hermione's spine. Before she lost her courage, Harry flicked his wrist, his wand directed at the werewolf. Instantly, the prisoner made to grab his throat, croaking as his voice failed to come out. The chains did not allow him the privilege. Seconds later, Harry had lowered his wand, and Greyback could speak again.

"Why are you laughing, Greyback?" demanded Hermione from her high seat, but he did not deign to answer.

"Answer the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or you will be held in Contempt of the Wizengamot," said Kingsley almost indifferently. Underneath the indifference, Hermione could detect a hint of the well-disguised fury the Minister hid so well. At his words, Fenrir attempted with difficulty to straighten up. When he failed to do so, he merely raised his awful head, baring his white teeth for all to see. Near him, Hermione could see Harry and the three Hit Wizards stiffen automatically. Fenrir Greyback's eyes, narrow and ice-blue, drilled into her. She distinctly heard his voice play over and over again, and she felt anger rear its ugly head inside her.

"And lastly, your pretty little friend…I'm not going to bite just yet," he had said, his words echoing as clearly as it had when he had said them. His eyes had roved her body hungrily, and in that moment, she had feared him more than she feared Bellatrix Lestrange. Even as Lestrange cast the Cruciatus Curse on her, Hermione had found herself screaming not only in physical pain, but because Fenrir Greyback's saliva-dripping teeth had been plastered at the forefront of her brain. Indiscriminate rage filled her as she locked eyes with Greyback now, as he sat chained to his chair. His stare was unflinching.

Harry made to raise his wand, no doubt in an attempt to prevent Greyback from looking at Hermione ever again, but she had moved past her fears in that instant. Caught in his gaze, she remembered that _she_ had him under total control, and it was not the other way around. This was _her_ Malfoy Manor, she wanted to yell at Greyback, but she stayed her fury. Instead, Hermione raised a hand to stop Harry, who stepped back instantly. The Head of the Auror Office backed away, stowing his wand in his front pocket, but she knew a hand remained clenched around it. Hermione looked into Greyback's eyes, her own cold and unwavering. She found it a task to not look down at her forearm, where her smooth skin had once been scarred by the blade of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Fenrir Greyback," she began, her voice stronger than she expected. "You have not been summoned by the Wizengamot to answer for your crimes. You have already done so."

The werewolf's eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to comprehend what he was hearing.

"Evidence has come to light of a task assigned to you by Voldemort prior to the Second Wizarding War," she said. Still, his face betrayed no hint of understanding. Hermione remembered Kingsley recounting Greyback's last Wizengamot appearance, where the werewolf feigned complete ignorance, acting the part of a clueless Muggle convincingly enough to escape the shackles of Azkaban. His deceptive talents were surfacing slowly, she could tell. She smiled grimly to herself.

"Witness to the prosecution, Mr. Stanley Shunpike, Conductor of the Knight Bus," she said, as the doors opened, and an anxious, shivering, pimply man entered the room, escorted by, Hermione was pleased to see, one of Harry's Aurors. Under the collective gaze of the Wizengamot, Stan was shell-shocked. Hermione prayed inwardly that the Conductor had the resolve to speak, at the very least. It filled her with confidence, though, to see Fenrir Greyback's slack-jawed expression. He might have tried to hide it, but she could see the recognition in his eyes as Stan gingerly walked around him. Harry waved his wand, and a comfortable looking chintz armchair appeared.

Once Stan was seated, he looked down quickly, as if fearing that chains would rise up and bind him in place. It struck Hermione just how frightened Stan was, and it puzzled her, until she noticed the guilt tracing Harry's face. When he caught her gaze, he looked at her intently, as if attempting to communicate something, and she remembered why Stan was afraid. Memories of Harry rudely refusing to help Rufus Scrimgeour filled her mind, however long ago it was. When she looked at Stan Shunpike again, Hermione looked at him as a man who had been wrongfully imprisoned in Azkaban for months on end. She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white; the incompetent Scrimgeour had attempted, and failed, to calm the public by showing intent- intent in the form of arresting a then-young Stanley Shunpike. Shunpike had escaped eventually, or rather, been broken out by Death Eaters. Persistently believing the Conductor could do no intentional wrong, Harry had been right from the beginning. Under the Imperius Curse, Stan Shunpike had done Voldemort's bidding. It was a horrific series of events, and Hermione did not want to remind him of them. Momentarily doing away with her harsh coldness, she smiled gently at Shunpike, who recoiled in surprise.

"Stan, you were wrongfully imprisoned many years ago- and on behalf of the Ministry, I can beg no further forgiveness for that act," she began.

"After the Death Eaters placed the Imperius Curse on you, and broke you out of Azkaban, I believe you had moments of complete lucidity?"

Stan nodded.

"It says here," continued Hermione, holding up the report in her hand. "That you heard a great deal regarding the activities of the Snatchers in your time as a…an involuntary Death Eater."

Stan nodded again, but his eyes widened in fright. Hermione smiled warmly at him, and she could see some of the fear withdraw.

"Stan, you are here as witness to a prosecution, and nothing more," she said. "You are here to tell us what you heard Fenrir Greyback telling the Snatchers while you traveled with them."

As if on cue, both Greyback and Shunpike looked up suddenly, as if struck by lightning. Greyback's gaze was stuck on Shunpike, who, to Hermione's relief, did not notice the werewolf's eyes boring into him. She saw in Stan's eyes a large measure of recollection. He bobbed his head up and down rapidly, so quickly she feared his neck might snap off. She leaned forward, trying her best to hide the sudden surge of hope that filled her veins.

"I heard 'im tell 'em," Stan began, his voice weak and soft, but growing stronger with every word. "That-that the Dark Lord gave 'im a job. Years ago."

"How long ago, Stan?" asked Hermione. Stan gulped.

"Before a baby sent 'im into hiding," said the bus conductor, his head glancing momentarily towards Harry, who made no indication that he heard. Hermione nodded.

"And what was the job?" she asked. Her insides knotted together in tension as Stan took a deep breath.

"The Dark Lord told 'im to build 'im an army," said Stan, his words coming out in a whisper. Hermione feared that he had reached his limit; a full Wizengamot had him quaking in his boots, and Greyback's quiet presence must have been worse.

"An army of what?" she asked. The entire room seemed to take a collective breath. Stan shuddered, looking around at the faces nervously.

"Of-of," he struggled, the words not escaping his mouth.

"Mudbloods."

As one, the Wizengamot turned to Fenrir Greyback, who had abandoned all facades. The werewolf leaned as casually as his chains allowed him. He looked, Hermione realized, like a man who had nothing more to lose. She doubted he cared what words his tongue produced anymore; it seemed that Stan had been on the right track. In his small moments of lucidity, Stan had escaped the Imperius Curse and heard what he should not have. Stan had, without trying to, broken through Greyback's sly defenses.

"Mudbloods?" asked Kingsley angrily. "Lord Voldemort wanted to build an army of mudbloods? Do you realize how nonsensical that sounds, Greyback, or are you still taking us for fools?"

Greyback howled with laughter, and this time, Harry did not silence him.

"The Dark Lord," spat Greyback, "said that there was no better use for filthy blood-traitors. I'd have had my way with you too, Granger, if Lestrange had let me."

"What do you mean?" demanded Hermione, noticing the fury marring Harry's face. She could tell he was recalling Malfoy Manor; indeed, she was too, but she was close to an answer, and so she persisted. Greyback, with eyes full of dark intent, grinned.

"The Dark Lord gave me license to _create._ And I did."

Confusion marked the faces of the Wizengamot. Few comprehended Greyback's blunt words, but those that did, Hermione noticed, had expressions identical to hers- of utmost horror. In the corner of the room, Percy blanched, his hands clenched into fists. Kingsley's eyes sparkled with uncontrollable rage.

"How many Muggle-borns and Half-bloods did you convert, Greyback?" asked Hermione softly, her voice carrying across the massive room. Looking into her eyes, the werewolf grinned menacingly, revealing his pointed teeth to the Wizengamot.

"An army."


	4. Chapter 3: Father and Son

**Chapter 3: Father and Son**

Great shouts of laughter came from the grounds, which were blanketed in snow so thick the children sank almost to their knees trying to run about. Of the many students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, most of them tumbled around in the snow on this pleasant day. The Great Hall at breakfast had the atmosphere of a holiday; its massive ceiling was charmed to look like crystalline snowflakes tumbled to the floor, only to disappear above students' heads. The smells of buttered toast and fried bacon floated in the air, but the tables were always empty on a day like this. Students leaned on window sills, plates in their grasp, chatting animatedly to one another.

There was loud commotion coming from the Gryffindor table that morning, for the Head of Gryffindor, and their Herbology Professor, had returned to the teachers' table. Neville Longbottom looked at ease, walking among his students and chatting with them; it was as if he had not left at all. Now, he sat at the foot of Rubeus Hagrid's cabin, jovially drinking from a steaming mug of tea. While he stretched comfortably on the first step, the big Care of Magical Creatures Professor had his abnormally large chair immersed halfway into the snow, his weight pushing down every time he moved. It was a scene only possible on a day as beautiful as this- when the sun shone through the snowy skies. The pair watched a rather intense snowball fight, cheering both sides on as loudly as they could. Once in a while, a snowball from an unidentified source entered the fray, and the two teachers sniggered as the kids attempted to find the culprit.

Perched like a bird on a tree, a boy watched his classmates toss around on the snow from afar. His eyes were the same green as the scarf wrapped around his neck, and sharp cheekbones sloped down to a strong chin. This particular tree was at a perfect position- close enough to the grounds to keep an eye out, and far enough to feel secluded from the crowd. An unopened book lay in his lap- _The Standard Book of Spells_ by Miranda Goshawk. He had brought it to read, but it seemed a daunting task to read on such a good day. More than anything, he wanted to be on the grounds, rolling around in the snow. He hoped it would clear out soon, so he could take a walk. It had been a very long since he had had a day at his disposal. Scorpius stared at the frozen lake, and imagined himself on a _Firebolt,_ soaring across the icy surface, so close he felt the coldness in waves. He shivered just thinking about it.

And with the joy coursing through him he began to feel irritation. It unfurled its black sails inside his mind, and his father's face flitted in. His father had always been grand, even rather majestic. When Scorpius turned old enough to attend Hogwarts, he watched his father go from proud and excited to worried and grim. There had been a cloud hanging over him after the day the letter came, as if he pondered the decision to send Scorpius to school at all. Scorpius had fretted in his room the entire day, trying to imagine life at Durmstrang or Beauxbatons or something somewhere so far away he could no longer remember home. That was when his father stepped into his room, and began a conversation neither of them would ever forget. He told Scorpius of his mistakes, mistakes that hurt him to talk about- Scorpius could see the misery these thoughts tugged along. He warned his son that the wizarding community might not have forgiven his sins, and it would hurt him at times.

When Scorpius heard it for the first time, he admired his father. He imagined the torment of living with his decisions, burdens he needed to bear endlessly, and he felt proud of his father for having the strength to say it out loud to him. Now, he felt a strange feeling running through him. He found himself thinking incessantly of _why_ his father made the decisions he made. To him, no matter the situation, there was a choice. There _had to be_ a choice. He had told his father that day that he, as his father's son, would change the Malfoy legacy. Scorpius spent hours poring over the family tree, and read book after book on the genealogy of wizarding Britain. The sacred families had histories dating back centuries, and it pained him that his family leaned the wrong way. He meant to correct that. But how, just _how_ was he supposed to do anything like this? His dreams of playing Quidditch like his father had all but disappeared when he realized he had no friends; if he didn't have friends, he didn't really think being in a team was possible.

Watching James Potter zoom away on his _Firebolt,_ taking sharp turns Scorpius thought were impossible at that speed, he felt rather small. When he looked at the oldest son of his father's old enemy, he could not stare for long. After finding out that Albus Severus Potter was in his class, Scorpius had felt pressurized to stay hidden. He was plagued by fleeting images of the Potter kids looking at him like a criminal, like he belonged in Azkaban. He avoided them with a vengeance, only because he knew how awful his life would be if the most popular children at Hogwarts detested him.

It had been a hard first three years, because one could only avoid the world for so much time. Once, studying out of his _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ in the library, he had looked up after a long period and almost gasped in surprise. He had been so engrossed in the book that he failed to notice the large group seated very close to him. Albus Severus Potter, Rose and Dominque Weasley, along with Teddy Lupin, had been having a quiet conversation that sounded like hoarse whispers to Scorpius. To their astonishment, he doubled back to the Slytherin Common Room almost immediately, rushing past them and leaving behind his book. When he arrived at Professor Hagrid's cabin the next day for his Care of Magical Creatures lesson, he rummaged in his bag, but to no avail. He realized with a curse that the book probably sat gathering dust on one of old Madam Pince's tables. A hand nudged him from behind, and he started, only to see Albus Potter smiling rather awkwardly, holding out the book. Lost for words, Scorpius had only nodded and accepted the book. Albus had remained standing where he was for the rest of the lesson- right beside Scorpius. Neither said a word. It had been the most frightful experience for the son of Draco Malfoy, who spent much of his time wondering how much Albus Potter knew about him.

Just as he was thinking this, he felt the breath being knocked out of him. An impact in the small of his back thrust him forward, and he lost his balance entirely. Even though the snow lay thick, the fall shook him badly enough. Before he could get to his feet, the sound of derisive laughter reached his ears, and he whipped around to see a group of girls standing at a distance from him. One of them, the brunette, had her wand out. From where he stood, Scorpius could see the malice in her eyes. A red scarf dangled from her neck, with golden words screaming "ROAR FOR GRYFFINDOR!" on it. He picked up his spell book from the ground, brushing the snow from his tousled blonde hair with the other. As he looked at them, the familiar feeling of hatred fueled his rage. He clenched the book hard in his left hand, his fingers gouging deep into its hard-bound cover. He could feel the material push underneath his nails slowly, and underneath his bubbling fury, he could hear his father's cool voice telling him to calm down, but it grew softer and softer.

Their leering faces made him _want,_ desperately, to pull out his wand. He had never seen women look as ghastly as this, and it made him even angrier, if it were possible. It was horrific, to him, to watch a pretty face curl in disgust, especially when _he_ was the reason behind it. Itching to draw his weapon, Scorpius Malfoy looked at them defiantly. Five of them, and one of him, and he felt no fear, only rage.

"What's the problem, Malfoy?" she jeered, nonchalantly raising her wand to eye-level. "Can't even draw your wand?"

"Leave me alone," he snarled, every word a difficulty as it crawled out of his throat. Words he wanted to say clawed at him from the inside.

"Or what?" another demanded, and another wand was drawn. Two, and only him, he noted grimly. Both wands pointed solely at him, Scorpius was finding it harder and harder to grip a book instead of a wand.

"Bother someone else," he said, unwisely turning his back to them. He hoped, and prayed, that they let him walk away, defeated.

"Better they think of you as a coward than as a Dark Wizard," his father had told him. The words rung in his head as he walked away from the group. He didn't need to turn around to see their disappointed expressions; he had gone through four years of being pushed to the edge- it seemed like everyone tried very hard to provoke him. He thought, stupidly, that his classmates would get over it after three whole years, but it never seemed to end. He would always be, he realized, a coward in their eyes.

 _BANG._

The hex made his head swim, for it had him slam into the snow-packed earth once again. He got to his feet, struggling, still trying to put more distance between them.

"Don't be scared, Malfoy," a drawling voice called out. "Even _if_ Daddy's not here to help you."

"Daddy should be in Azkaban," another voice muttered. Scorpius halted, and the book tumbled from his grasp onto the white snow. The thought of the wizard prison crept into his head like ants crawling over spilled food.

"All of them should be."

Like a broken radio, the sentence seemed to reverberate in his skull. His eyes closed, he had a fleeting image of himself curled up in a dark cell, his _Standard Book of Spells_ still in his hands. In another corner of the cell lay his father, unmoving and quiet, his pale blonde hair covering his face. The corpse came alive, suddenly, its empty eyes attempting to find Scorpius, whose body now resembled a ball in the darkness.

"Don't give in, Scorpius," whispered a shadow of Draco Malfoy. He stretched out his hand to his son, but Scorpius edged away, for the serpent and skull tattoo on his father's forearm stood out on his pale skin. In that moment, he saw the pain in his father's eyes, the sorrow of many years etched on his skin, and Scorpius stopped hearing his voice, though his lips moved continually, as if he would forever whisper words of reassurance to his son.

When Scorpius opened his eyes, he no longer cared for cowardice and walking away. He no longer cared if he were branded a Dark Wizard; he wanted them to feel the pain they inflicted on him. He spun around, and he heard the familiar _whoosh_ as their curses flew toward him. With a bellow of rage, he slashed his wand in an arc, and a bright blue shield made both curses ricochet harmlessly away. Before so much as a movement, he had disarmed them both. The other three girls stiffened automatically, reaching into their robes. His wand hand clenched, and sparks flew out of the tip of his weapon. Adrenaline surged into his body, and a reckless anger overcame him.

Flat on his face, James tasted dirty snow. He hurriedly got to his feet, only to be smacked in the chest by another snowball and floored yet again. A few feet away, Lucio laughed madly, five snowballs levitating threateningly behind him. His Slytherin scarf curled haphazardly around his neck, one end buried in the snow.

"Can't beat me at this, can you, James?!" he yelled, and all five balls soared forward. "Ha!"

James took off, running as fast as his legs could carry him through the thick snow, but he wasn't fast enough. He had become so used to the swiftness of the _Firebolt_ that ordinary movement seemed an incredible chore. He sank his face into the snow in frustration, before he was pulled swiftly to his feet. Lucio helped brush the snow from his friend's coat, still laughing rather evilly at his victory.

"I'm not done, I'm going to kill you," James mumbled, reaching for snow.

"Wait," said Lucio, pointing at the castle. James turned to see his little brother sprinting towards him. His robes awhirl, Albus looked more serious than he had ever been before. In four years at Hogwarts, Albus had never needed his older brother's help. Much more likable than James knew _he_ was, Albus Severus was by far the more mature one out of them. The number of times McGonagall mentioned it to him made him seethe.

"Your younger brother isn't in my office every other day, Mr. Potter," he could just hear her say. " _He_ seems to be making far better decisions than you and Mr. Zabini."

At any rate, James knew that Albus wouldn't come to him unless he was in desperate need of help. His brother almost jumped on him, leaning in to whisper quickly. James and Lucio were on their way to the castle before he finished his third sentence. Sprinting madly, wands out, they barreled through the snow. Lucio's wand, pointed at the ground as he ran, emitted jets of steaming air, and the snow simply melted before them. The smell of fire greeted them. James could see flashes of light, and the crackle of spells connecting in mid-air.

When they neared the battleground, James took in the situation as quickly as he could. His blonde hair whirling madly, Scorpius Malfoy was protecting himself, arm raised, to a barrage of hexes. The snow around him had melted into nothing, and the grass at his feet sizzled, flames licking his feet, but Scorpius seemed invulnerable to them. The jets of light hit his shield charms with no success, but Malfoy moved like he had already been hit by one of the meaner curses. Lucio moved in front of Albus suddenly, his wand arm outstretched. A stray jet of light disappeared in a flash before him. James snarled, raising his wand. Not his younger brother, and not on _his_ watch.

" _REDUCTO!"_ he yelled.

An explosion accompanied by the sound of earth and wood being unceremoniously ripped apart shook what lay between the fighters. Smoke filled the circle, and no more jets of light flew back and forth. James heard yells and quick footsteps, but he could see only shadows in the smoke. When it cleared, the five girls had disappeared, leaving nothing behind them. He thought he saw the flash of a Gryffindor scarf, and worse, he thought he saw his name glinting on it. Scorpius stood with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. James flinched inwardly; if Scorpius blamed him for the attack, he had nothing to defend himself with. No words came to his mind when he saw the son of Draco Malfoy, but a great welling up of pity always accompanied the silence. The blond boy looked up finally and, swallowing, nodded.

"Thanks. Five against one was probably a bad idea," he simply said, with a small sigh.

Albus looked at him in alarm, but Lucio and James roared with laughter, clutching their chests and shaking. Scorpius raised his eyebrows at first, but before long, a smile lit his face. By the time Professor McGonagall, Professor Longbottom, Hagrid, and a host of others arrived at the spot, the three boys had tears in their eyes.

"Probably-" gasped James.

"A _bad_ idea," said Lucio, still holding his side.

"What the _devil_ is going on here?!" Professor McGonagall demanded angrily.

Her eyebrows knit together, the Headmistress stared out of the window almost absent mindedly. The view from Dumbledore's office was magnificent, as it always had been. Beside the window, even Phineas Nigellus's portrait snored softly. It was in these moments of peace that McGonagall truly wondered how Albus Dumbledore did what he did as Hogwarts Headmaster. It had been a clear, beautiful day, the snow falling prettily over the grounds, and it had been interrupted most abruptly by James Potter. The number of times a Potter had spoiled a blissful day…she had lost count. As his name crept into her mind, she felt her eyes moisten, and she was relieved that she stood by the window. She remembered the very first day Harry Potter's oldest son walked into the school. There had been a burst of murmurs echoing around the Great Hall when Neville Longbottom read out "Potter, James", his voice as proud as it would be years later when he read out his own children's names.

She could feel the entire staff shuffle in their seats as young James Potter walked up to the Sorting Hat. Hagrid made no pretenses; the tears flowed hot into his beard. Hestia Jones was beside herself, her eyes twinkling with excitement as she watched Potter tug on the magical hat. McGonagall had no words to offer the moment, for her mind had wandered off to another day, a day so long ago it made her brain strain with the effort to remember it properly. When James Potter I had tugged on the Sorting Hat for the first time, McGonagall had not counted on it being such a special moment in her life. And now, the third Potter took his place on the low stool, and with her wet eyes, she could not tell the difference between the three. The rest of the day had been rather blurry, Minerva admitted, for she ended up spending much of her time at _The Three Broomsticks_ with Madam Pomfrey. Poppy had been crying the whole time; for she had healed all three boys in her Hospital Wing time and time again.

It turned out that Poppy had absolutely no control over herself; every year at the Sorting Ceremony, she broke out into tears just by listening to the names. When Teddy Lupin had been made Head Boy, when Dominique Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor, when Albus Severus Potter walked in for the first time; all these events turned into powerful emotional triggers for the oldest members of the Hogwarts staff.

It had come as no surprise when James Potter turned up in her office every other day, and though she lectured him sternly every time, it gave her immense pleasure to watch the messy-haired young man walk into her office. Sitting serenely in his frame, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore gazed fondly at the boy every single time. It seemed to Minerva that the past could never be forgotten- it irked them at their best and worst moments.

Albus Potter's quick explanation of what he had seen was believable, and, McGonagall grimly admitted, unsurprising. It would be an immense task to identify Scorpius Malfoy's attackers, but the greater difficulty lay in how she solved this issue. She admitted to herself, once again, that Harry Potter's youngest son was far more rational than the oldest. Running for help had possibly been the smartest decision he could have made- she shuddered to think of the scene if Albus had joined the battle.

James, Albus, and Lucio fidgeted in their seats, itching to be out on the grounds. Sitting at a distance from them, young Scorpius was a striking image of his father. He had Draco's sharp features, and Narcissa's elegant hair. But in his eyes she saw none of the cruelty and malice his father had harbored all through his Hogwarts years. For four terms, she had watched the boy, and it had taken but one conversation to determine how different he was from his father. At the back of her mind, she considered having him observed by a member of the staff, for his own safety. But when she looked at James Potter and Lucio Zabini, warmth flooded her heart.

Contrasting greens and reds on their scarves made them seem more enemies than friends, but the pair had changed that quickly in their initial years. The staff turned a blind eye to their pranks and foolishness, for the sight of the Slytherin Captain arm in arm with the Gryffindor Captain made them feel proud of their heritage. McGonagall took her seat, facing the boys, who stared at her in anticipation. Of the group, Scorpius looked the most uneasy.

"For the first time, Mr. Potter, I am impressed with you," she began, to expressions of shock. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Albus Dumbledore shift in his portrait, his eyes still closed. "But, I'd much rather prefer it if you didn't attempt to blow up my school again."

James nodded sheepishly. Beside him, Lucio sniggered. Minerva took a deep breath; she had been thinking of the perfect words to say ever since the boys had walked into her office, even before Albus told her what had happened.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, her tone serious. "You-"

"You can't punish him-" started James, rising from his chair.

"How is this his fault?" demanded Lucio Zabini, his face suddenly furious. McGonagall realized that Lucio and Scorpius shared far more similarities than house colors; it had just been so that Blaise Zabini had luckily, never been branded with the Dark Mark. She had to control herself- a smile had pulled at her lips when the boys had their outbursts.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said again, loud enough to force the two sixth year students back into their seats. Scorpius watched her wearily.

"You have friends in this school."

Her words were met with silence from the blond boy. He looked completely blank, and almost confused. Beside him, Albus grinned, nodding at McGonagall.

"It has been too long since the Second Wizarding War," she said softly, almost to herself. "And some things must be forgotten. And if some people cannot forget, you must. And," she added. "Never fear standing up for yourself."

James and Lucio exchanged looks, smiling.

"The culprits will eventually come out of their hiding places, and when they do-"

"We'll be waiting," finished Lucio emphatically. McGonagall shook her head gently.

" _I'll_ be waiting. And I expect you to come to me immediately. Is that clear?"

The four boys nodded. Minerva noted the new smile that had spread on Scorpius Malfoy's face; it had perhaps never been seen before.

"You're dismissed," she said, waving her hand, but looking at James. "Potter, a word."

The rest of the group left the office noisily, while Potter sat still, waiting for the Headmistress to speak. He ran his hand through his messy hair, promptly making it look far worse than it had been all year. He frowned, not looking as carefree as he usually did. The incident had shaken him more than he expected, and it showed on his face. He looked up at Professor McGonagall, his lips pursed.

"Potter, how much do you know about Draco Malfoy?" she asked quietly.

The question did not surprise the boy one bit.

"Enough to know why those Gryffindor girls attacked him, Professor," said James.

She nodded, grateful to Harry Potter for being transparent about this early on.

"And do you agree with what they did?" she asked, fearing the answer.

He shook his head defiantly.

"I know what it's like," came his soft reply. "To be looked at like that. Like…I'm not me, and I'm my father. I got used to it, but I didn't have it this hard. Those Gryffindor girls were wrong. And it's like you said, Professor."

"What?"

"It's been too long since the Second Wizarding War. I asked my father about this a year ago, Professor. He never told me Mr. Malfoy was a Death Eater. He didn't think it was important enough to mention. I only found out because…because people talk in the common room," he finished rather nervously, attempting to regain his confidence by stroking his locks. McGonagall nodded.

"He told me that Mr. Malfoy made a few mistakes, and he paid for them. And it's no one's business to punish him or his family for the past."

When James Potter left her office, Minerva made a mental note to mention to Harry Potter that, to her astonishment, he had raised children far more mature than he ever was. Chuckling to herself, she decided to go see Poppy.


	5. Chapter 4: The Hit Wizards

**Chapter 4: The Hit Wizards**

Buried underneath vast quantities of paperwork, Hermione's desk was no longer visible. At the very top lay the only thing she did not want to see. _The Daily Prophet's_ headline glared at her almost indignantly. Its words made her wince and sigh, for of all things, she had not expected to read it. Anything else would have put a smile on her face, even if someone had gotten wind of the Greyback trial. But alas, something far worse had happened. It had been happening slowly, and she had thought of its possibility, but now that it had happened, she foresaw grave complications.

"Rita Skeeter takes the helm, amid the mysterious disappearance of famed Editor, Barnabus Cuffe. _The Daily Prophet_ spoke to Skeeter straight after her appointment-"

"Can't say we shouldn't have seen it coming," interrupted Ron, his face hidden behind her paperwork. He had been listening to Hermione with an expression of complete disgust, as if her words made him feel like a vomit flavored Bertie Bott's Bean had just been forced down his throat.

"We can lose her her job, the slimy bug," said Harry, slapping the surface of the desk with his hand. "This is awful."

Hermione nodded.

"I bet she's already got an interview with one of the Wizengamot in the bag," said Ron seriously, looking at Hermione like she could have put a stop to it.

"It would have happened eventually," she said dully.

"The one thing we don't need right now is Britain panicking. And Rita Skeeter taking control of the _Prophet_ gives her all the power she needs to turn the people against us."

Harry had swung his legs roughly onto the desk, finding a small spot between sheaves of parchment. Immediately, the room turned very silent. The smell of burning paper filled the air; the copy of _The Daily Prophet_ was now crumpled into a ball, slowly turning in the air as it burned, egged on by Ron's wand. Hermione pursed her lips.

"But you've already thought of all that," Harry stated very matter-of-factly, looking at her.

"The conclusion I came to, rather unfortunately, is that it was unavoidable. Honestly, Rita's not the problem," Hermione said, pacing. "This is a horrible position to be in, regardless of who's in charge at the _Prophet._ Any decent journalist would've thrown the Ministry under the bus for this."

"True," said Ron.

"A bunch of werewolves running around unchecked, or a flock of Death Eaters. Take your pick." Harry's face was gaunt even in the soft sunlight.

"I'd prefer the Death Eaters right about now, thanks," said a deep voice. Standing unnoticed at the door to Hermione's office was the Minister for Magic.

With heavy bags underneath his eyes, Kingsley looked like he hadn't left the Ministry in days. Behind him floated a little flock of violently pink paper airplanes- inter-departmental memos that accompanied him wherever he went. His eyes wavered between Ron and Harry, noting the burning copy of _The Daily Prophet_ as it rotated. He grimaced distastefully as he shut the door behind the memos. He knew he had to open them, he just didn't want to. With a sigh, he found himself an armchair by the window, which Hermione had enchanted to mysteriously cause sunlight to filter through the room.

"Harry? Heard anything from the Aurors yet?" he asked. Harry shook his head. His squad had been perusing the countryside, apparating from town to town, searching out hints of werewolf inhabitation. It seemed rather childish to assume a werewolf army would be out in the open, but Harry had concluded, after much thought, that the absence of a leader rendered an army hopeless. Greyback had most certainly neglected the Muggles and half-bloods he infected, for Harry knew that if he had not, the War of Hogwarts would have been _much_ harder.

"Any moment now," said Harry, his green eyes finding Kingsley's. "I have a squad ready once we've determined a location."

"No," said Hermione, shaking her head.

"No?" asked Harry, puzzled.

"No," she repeated. "Things need to work a little differently from now on, Harry. We need to use the right resources where they're needed."

"Are you saying the Aurors can't handle this?" asked Harry, the confusion showing on his face. Kingsley, frowning, looked down at the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione waved her wand, and a low buzzing filled his ears. The door clicked shut, and the windows closed with a bang.

"No, what I'm saying is," she said, sitting on her desk. "The Aurors can't be spared for this."

"Okay," said Harry, exhaling. "So who tracks down the werewolves running around Britain?"

Hermione looked at Kingsley knowingly.

"Ah…yes," he said. "The Hit Wizards will."

"The Hit Wizards?" repeated Harry. Of all the answers, he did not expect one so nonsensical. The Hit Wizards had been an empty squad after the 98' War, and there had been no need to fill it- the Aurors were enough of a force to be reckoned with after Harry took over at their helm. Now, there only existed three- and none of them were trained Hit Wizards, they were only Aurors Harry had drafted into a different squad. Of what he knew, the Hit Wizards had once been a renowned group of wizards. Their combat abilities were unmatched, and they went through a series of rigorous reflex tests to hone their instincts. The real Hit Wizards had disbanded unanimously after the Dark Lord took over the Ministry, and Kingsley had not felt the need to reassemble them.

"Re-formed," said Kingsley. Harry sat back, sighing.

"And under the express control of the Head of the Auror Department," said Hermione, a smile tugging at her lips. Harry's eyebrows rose quickly.

"Is that so?"

"It is," affirmed Kingsley. "You can brief them once they come in."

Harry nodded, looking reasonably mollified. Kingsley turned to Hermione again, his intense stare piercing her.

"Granger," he began, his tone turning suddenly serious. "Why do you think the Aurors can't be spared for a werewolf invasion? What is it you're not telling me?"

Hermione pursed her lips, but before she could begin, Ron rose to his feet with a huff, and _The Daily Prophet_ crumpled into a blackened ball of ash on the ground.

"I'm going to get back to the shop," he said, swiftly kissing her on the cheek. "Minister, Harry," he said, nodding to them before disappearing with a loud _crack._ His departure was unnecessary, but Ron had long since abandoned his role as an Auror. The heaps of paperwork and drawn out politics had reminded Ron too much of Hermione's old History of Magic notes, and it had been entirely unsurprising to Harry when his best friend joined George Weasley at the helm of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Now, Ron stayed far away from Ministry drama, preferring to channel his thoughts into his joke shop.

Hermione strode over to her desk, waving her wand. The mass of paperwork vanished into thin air, and with a rattle, a drawer pulled itself open. Pieces of parchment drifted into the air, glowing with warm light. Harry leaned forward excitedly, before sitting back heavily. Kingsley scanned the papers quickly, his eyes breezing through the Ancient Runes. Hermione waited patiently, before turning to Harry.

"Every one of these is related to Goblin legislation in the seventeenth century," she said, motioning with her wand at the many pieces. Harry scowled.

"Wizards used Ancient Runes in the seventeenth century?"

Hermione and Kingsley shook their heads simultaneously. Harry stood, walking to Hermione's desk and frowning at the words he could not understand. His eyes drifted to the end of every piece- there were little signatures at the bottom right of every page, just scrawled in the corner. All the pieces were signed with the same jagged mark. He glared at them; he felt like he were in Hogwarts again, entirely unaware of what was going on in his classes.

"These are notes…" said Harry blankly.

"Memoirs, I think," muttered the Minister, his chin resting on his hand. Hermione, nodding, reached out her hand. At once, the various pages soared into her grasp.

"I found these in the Restricted Section, Harry," she said, tucking the pages in.

"What? The library?" asked Harry, alarmed. Immediately, he tilted his head, his mouth open in a mute "Oh."

"During the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match," he said. "That was why you weren't in the stands."

Hermione nodded. Her trip to the library had been an extremely nostalgic one, for she found that she knew its every turn and shelf like it were yesterday. Madam Pince, even older and far more feeble, looked at her with reverence, shaking her hand warmly. She told Hermione, without a speck of hesitation, that the Hogwarts library was always open to her.

"Professor Binns told me, a long time ago, that he kept most of his research material in the Restricted Section- things that didn't matter anymore, old notes, old journals, things like that. _This_ is, believe it or not, from the journal of one Ugnak the Sturdy, relative of," Hermione turned to Kingsley. "Urg the Unclean."

"I know that name," frowned Harry.

"He's on a Chocolate Frog Card. 18th century leader of the goblin rebellion," recalled Kingsley. "Ugnak the Sturdy I have never heard of. He isn't in the Wizard history I know…"

"He isn't in any textbook. And I didn't find anything untoward about him, until I read _this,"_ Hermione said vehemently, holding out a page. She pointed to a cluster of runes so tangled Harry thought it a useless scribble. Kingsley frowned.

"Yardley…"

"Platt," finished Hermione, raising her eyebrows.

"Ah," said Kingsley, sitting back. Harry looked between them, incredulous.

"Sorry? Who is this?"

"He's rather famous, I'm surprised you haven't heard of him. Again, he's on a Chocolate Frog Card."

"Everybody's in the bloody Chocolate Frog Cards," mumbled Harry angrily, cursing his memory. "What did he do?"

"Born in 1446, Yardley Platt attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry until his fourth year, when his father, Felix Platt, switched his school," Hermione said, reading from a thick book labeled _Hogwarts: A History_ by Bathilda Bagshot.

"To Durmstrang, whose Headmaster at the time was the son of-"

"Harfang Munter," finished Kingsley. Harry gaped at the two of them.

"Harfang Munter, Harry, gave Durmstrang Institute it's shady reputation. He killed the founder of the school, Nerida Vulchanova, and turned the school into a center for the Dark Arts. It is said his sons continued this syllabus for quite a while."

Harry nodded, gulping.

"Yardley Platt's father was in Slytherin."

"Yes, so he switched his son to a school more well-versed in the Dark Arts. And Yardley Platt graduated with full honors from Durmstrang Institute. He went on to engrave his name in history," said Hermione, her voice growing quieter with every word.

"As a goblin serial killer," said Kingsley.

"A _what?"_ whispered Harry, appalled. Having met Griphook, he by no means believed them to be bright and sunny creatures, but to systematically kill them needed a twisted mind.

Kingsley nodded grimly.

"Platt traveled across the country hunting them down, one by one, family by family."

"And the Ministry didn't put a stop to this?" demanded Harry. Hermione gestured at Ugnak the Sturdy's journal entries, shaking her head.

"On this page," Hermione began, pointing at the old paper. "Ugnak insults the Ministry for 'letting the human scum kill whoever he wants'. Ugnak hated the Ministry. I think, or rather, I am sure, the Ministry turned a blind eye towards Platt's crimes."

A stone the size of a cupboard sank in Harry's stomach. A feeling of shame crept through him- the Auror robes he wore seemed heavy on his shoulders. The walls around him felt like a cage; it was almost as if he were fifteen again, breaking into the Department of Mysteries. He had felt a deep surge of hatred for the magical government on occasion- when Cornelius Fudge had denounced him a liar, when Dumbledore had been removed as Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, and finally, when Rufus Scrimgeour arrested Stan Shunpike. The feeling of distrust had lingered in him until the end of the War of Hogwarts, only to be extinguished by Kingsley Shacklebolt's leadership. With Kingsley and Hermione at the helm, Harry could invest his trust in the Ministry of Magic. In fact, he still did, but the thought of an entire government allowing Yardley Platt to run free filled his mouth with bitterness. It was almost like Kingsley pardoning Fenrir Greyback.

"There's more," Hermione said blankly, and Harry looked up, fearing the worst. Kingsley was standing, reading from one of the pages, his face looking more serious than ever.

"It's very jumbled up," he said, his eyes squinting to make out the runes. "But Ugnak says here that he meant to form a secret group, or organization, one of them. The Gold Brotherhood…"

Harry frowned, the words sparking a memory of Cuthbert Binns.

"The Brotherhood of Goblins," he muttered.

"Is an already existing group. Not a secret group. The B.O.G. publicly condemns the laws preventing goblins from carrying wands. The Gold Brotherhood is different."

Hermione was now standing by her window, looking out of the crack of glass visible beyond the drawn curtain. Harry knew that look- she was piecing things together in her own mind, joining it all like a jigsaw puzzle. Just as he planned on asking her how the Gold Brotherhood impacted anything at all, she launched into her conversation with Dirk Cresswell. By the time she was done, Kingsley and Harry had both found seats and did not feel like they would ever get up. Cresswell's warning seemed clear enough now that Ugnak's journal lay before them. For the first time, Harry saw Kingsley curse loudly, his deep voice echoing through the chamber. In its ambiguous existence, Harry found himself fearing an enemy he did not know. The thought of a foe patiently biding his time, for centuries now, made him feel rather outclassed. Older than Riddle and Dumbledore by centuries, The Gold Brotherhood seemed to be an invisible hand that closed its vice grip around the Ministry. A loud rap on the door alerted his senses, and he was thankful for something other than goblins violating his mind. Kingsley rose to his feet.

"About time," he muttered, reaching for the door handle. "Harry, may I introduce you to the Commander of the Hit Wizards?"

Donned in robes blacker than the night, the young man had a tiny insignia etched into his breast- a flaming wand. His hair fell to his shoulders, and was a bright, electric blue. His face was one Harry recognized instantly; the features of Remus Lupin stared right at him.

"Teddy?!"


	6. Chapter 5: A Declaration of War

**Chapter 5: A Declaration of War**

With confidence, a teenager held his wand aloft, venturing through what seemed a broken down tunnel. The tip of the weapon blazed with light, but the underground pathway still seemed submerged in darkness. James Potter was followed closely by Lucio Zabini, Francis and Alice Longbottom, his little brother, Albus, Rose and Dominique Weasley, and at the very back, the blond-headed Scorpius Malfoy. As far as James could tell, his best friend was following his instructions- Lucio had not even _tried_ to engage Dominique in conversation. At first, he had found this rather strange. When the group had split up in the Great Hall to re-emerge at the entrance to Scorpius' tunnel, Lucio had been startled to see the older Weasley girl, but he nodded in her direction, nothing more.

The rubble seemed to almost follow them. The signs of destruction were so evident, but none in the group but James noticed, for the darkness had created a tension so powerful it rooted their gaze forward. From the very moment he stepped into the black hole, he felt like he stepped into the shadow of the entire castle. Age seemed to pour out of the walls, making him feel like he stepped on undiscovered history. Had Scorpius _really_ discovered a hidden pathway so old it had fallen through centuries ago? Or had it perhaps been part of the extensive wreckage of the 98' Battle of Hogwarts? Again, James hated not knowing. He surmised a long time ago that certain details of the war would _never_ be revealed to him or his siblings, but he yearned to know more. Family dinners only revealed so much.

Their dinners at Godric's Hollow were extensive and full of merriment- for it always seemed to James that it was a reunion of the greatest friends, friends that had been through thick and thin to stay bonded. He saw amazing people every time, and he remained in awe until they became familiar to him. When he first met the Minister for Magic, he had been speechless, for his deep voice penetrated his very bones. The tall man in his colorful robes had such large hands, they could crush James without a wand. But Kingsley Shacklebolt used his large hands to ruffle a mop of already-untidy hair, and a laugh he never thought he would hear came from him.

"James Sirius Potter, indeed," he had said, and James could have sworn he saw moistness in the Minister's eyes. At that point, he did not understand, and in all honesty, he still did not.

The rest of his parent's friends became his own very quickly. He had hoped that, being the oldest Potter child, he would be elevated to the position of a sort of confidante, but stories never truly unraveled in his presence. Lily and Albus enjoyed being the center of attention; everybody wanted to fuss around with Lily's heart-shaped face and Albus's flowing hair. To James, if he wasn't receiving any information, it made absolutely no sense for him to sit in a room.

In the summer of his fourth year, he and Lucio had made a quick trip to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, preparing for a single dinner. The meal took up no time at all, and when the children departed for bed, he heard the door to the dining room shut. Boundless excitement filled James when he thought of the occupants within. Professors McGonagall, Hagrid, and Longbottom were only the least notable names in the room. The Weasleys had come in full force- even Rose's _grandparents_ were in attendance. Cooped up beneath the staircase, the pair pulled out long stringy objects, colored like flesh. The Extendable Ears crept like serpents towards the door, proceeding to enter through the tiny gap left between the floor and the oak.

"Of course times are changing," Rose's grandmother was saying. Her voice was familiar to James even though he had heard it but a few times. He sensed pride glowing in her voice. "Harry, James and the Slytherin boy, Lucio- you don't see that very often. You raised him right."

"True," said another voice, a voice James determined belonged to his Uncle Ron. "In my time, I'd curse the next Slytherin, not make him my best friend. Hogwarts isn't what it used to be."

The silence that followed this statement was accompanied by the distinct sound of many sighs echoing through the dining room. James and Lucio caught each other's eye in nervous anticipation.

"The war changed everything."

"And Azkaban is as full as ever."

"It'll continue filling up. There will always be _someone._ "

"As long as they're not called Death Eaters, I'm alright." James could hear the undertone of darkness in his father's voice.

A constant exchange of sentences ensued- mostly things he and Lucio did not understand, about a 'Triwizard Tournament', Dementors, and something about a man named Fenrir Greyback- and the conversation seemed to get more serious as it went on. The two boys hung onto every single word, and failed to notice the presence of a tall orange haired man leaning on the wall next to the staircase. He was very quiet, and still like a statue, but a grin was on George Weasley's face.

"Having fun?" he whispered suddenly. The boys started in surprise, dropping the Extendable Ears. George laughed, kneeling. In the next moment, he seemed to be one of them, hiding beneath the staircase. James' heart sank- of all people to walk in when they used the Extendable Ears, it had to be the creator himself. But his uncle did not look angry; in fact, he looked rather pleased. He reached for a pair of Ears, holding the flesh colored strings between his fingers with pride.

"Fred and I thought of this when we were fifteen," he said softly. Feeling suddenly ashamed of themselves, James and Lucio looked at each other.

"Sorry," murmured James. "We didn't-"

"Are you kidding?!" exclaimed George, before chuckling. "If anything, I'm glad you're carrying our legacy onwards. But you're going about it the wrong way."

"The wrong way?"

George held up the Extendable Ears, gesturing to the closed door of the dining room.

"Almost every single person in that room knows how these are used."

Frowning, James looked at his uncle, who nodded with a smile.

"I'll tell you a secret. When the Order of the Phoenix reformed to defeat Voldemort, we used to use _these,"_ he held up the strings, "to overhear everything that happened in the meetings."

It dawned on James that his uncle was helping him more than disappointing him.

"All in all, your parents wouldn't be surprised to see you out here, doing this. In fact, I'm sure Harry expects it. Which is also why you'd never get far with these."

"They talk like they know we can listen when we want," said Lucio glumly.

"They talk like they know that certain things aren't meant to be heard by fourteen year olds, I'm sorry to say," said George, standing. "I'm going to go inside now, so you two better clear out before they see you."

Nodding, the two boys began making their way to James' room. Just as Lucio shut the door behind him, they heard him loud and clear.

"Well, don't give up so _easily_."

George Weasley's words had struck a fire in James Potter's heart. To him, it was like a blessing to go on, to carry forth a legacy. James meant to carry it no matter what. He and Lucio concluded that the only way they could learn the things they wanted to learn was by exploring the place itself _,_ and that was when James asked Dominique for a copy of _Hogwarts: A History,_ by Bathilda Bagshot. Their intensive work on the revised Marauder's Map over the years had already given them an understanding of _how much_ had really changed since then. Entire sections of the castle, various turrets, the outer ring of the late Albus Dumbledore's large office, even a part of the library- chunks of the school had been ripped out entirely. Throughout their first year, James spent his breakfasts with Francis, Alice, and Lucio, talking endlessly about the school and its secrets. The Whomping Willow's legend had been passed down for ages, and with it, a certain haunted part of Hogsmeade.

It only made sense to James to make an event out of the Shrieking Shack. The thought of leaving Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays annoyed him, and he could tell it annoyed his everyone else; a morose feeling hung in the air when the group finally agreed to meet at the corridor below the Astronomy Tower. The thought of entering the Shack breathed new life into him, and he thought it wise to bring along the people who already knew about it. The other six had their eyes fixed on the ground, to be careful not to step on anything strange, but James looked ahead of him eagerly. He and Lucio had been _sure,_ that this was a new pathway leading into Hogsmeade. He had a funny feeling where it ended, and it excited him even more to think of clambering into the crumbling wooden structure.

Even though he looked straight ahead, he did not notice a great rusty ring hanging at eye-level. With a groan, his forehead smacked into the iron ring, and he held his wand up to reveal a large trapdoor on the ceiling of the tunnel. Curling his fingers around it, he tugged, to no avail. Lucio's strength joined his and they pulled and pulled, but the rust had sealed the door shut. From the back of the group, Scorpius raised his wand, pointing at the hinges of the door.

" _Diffindo!"_ he whispered, pointing his wand at each corner one by one, until the decayed wood caved in and fell in dust and splinters around them.

James pulled himself up and onto a dusty, dirty floor, littered with pieces of broken furniture. From the inside, it looked as messy as its outside, but James felt like he had accomplished a fantastic task. After his Uncle Ron had told him in bits and pieces of the real story behind the Shrieking Shack, James was preoccupied with finding a path into it. All the passages earlier used had caved in or been destroyed during the war, but he and Lucio were determined to find a new way. They drew blanks for the first two years, unable to find even a single hint that a path to the Shrieking Shack existed. And then, James admitted, they had the fortune of conversing with Scorpius Malfoy.

The Slytherin boy eagerly pored over the Marauder's Map, and James and Lucio were stunned to find out that he _knew_ half of the paths the Map showed them. In his isolative tendencies, Scorpius had explored far more of the castle than either of them. When James confessed that the one thing he wanted to find but could not was an entrance into the Shack, Scorpius laid out an astounding number of options before him, all seeming closer and closer to the broken down structure. Smelling of damp wood, the Shack was by far the quietest place they had come across. Every step made their feet sink into the wood. The snow had weighed down on the roof for so long that it had caved in. Great chunks of white littered the scratched floor, melting into tiny ravines that spread like spider webs. With a wave of his wand, James restored the broken roof, watching it soar into place with satisfaction.

"Incredible…," murmured Rose, brushing her red hair out of her eyes. Like James, Rose and Albus had grown up hearing stories about the Shrieking Shack. Just last year, he had finally succeeded in getting the complete story out of his father – of how he met his Godfather. The entire dinner table had turned to listen to the tale of the Shrieking Shack under the Full Moon.

Soon, a roaring fire blazed in the small fireplace, illuminating a room that looked nothing like the dilapidated, broken down shack they had entered. The icy glass on the windows had crusted over with frost, and small sheets sloughed off as the warmth of the fire spread in waves. The children huddled in a circle around it, their hands outstretched. The tinkle of glass told James that Lucio had begun popping open bottles of Butterbeer, which he passed around. After he was done, the Slytherin Captain promptly sat back with a huff, taking a great gulp from his bottle. James watched him stretch and moan until he was in the most comfortable position possible, after which his eyes closed. It would have appeared to most that he slept peacefully if not for the irregular movement of his arm raising the bottle to his lips from time to time. James had to admire that, even when he didn't try, Lucio had a sense of grace about him that he would never have. His jet black hair was as untidy as James', but it fell in curling locks around his cheekbones; all in all, James was never surprised when eyes followed Zabini when he walked.

As if the shack meant nothing to her at all, Dominique had quietly found a spot adjacent to the fire, right underneath the glowing window. Her flaming hair hid her face as she narrowed her gaze to the book in her lap. Albus and Scorpius were avidly discussing a recent Quidditch match, their hands wildly flailing as they described their favorite Seekers. James heard familiar names and interesting words, but he could not bring himself to be a part of the conversation. He stared up at the ceiling he had just repaired, smiling faintly at the wonder of magic. With a swish of his wand, years of damage had been erased. He wished dearly that his Hogwarts years could rewind in a similar fashion. In hindsight, it had all gone by so quickly; it felt like he had spent only a few years at Hogwarts, not _six._ He could tell that the dullness of this understanding had filtered through to all his fellow Sixth-years, for Lucio, Dominique, and the Longbottom siblings were the only silent ones in the room. He wondered if Dominique could concentrate on her book at all.

From the window, he could see lines of Hogwarts students walking the roads of Hogsmeade. In the snow, it had been illuminated by little lanterns, glowing and floating on the sides of the streets. The familiar crowd surrounded Honeydukes, and it made James remember the very first time he had set eyes on the village of Hogsmeade- it had been with eyes filled with eagerness and enthusiasm. Now, he looked at it with sadness- he had never expected time to go by so quickly. The next year would be his seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; and to make it worse, it was _NEWT_ year.

The ending of the year had brought on a host of somber thoughts in James, so much so that he had long since forgotten about the Gryffindor – Slytherin match. He often spent days recalling entire matches, identifying where he and his team could have flown better, even modeling his moves after legendary seekers listed in _Quidditch through the Ages._ He had attempted, in vain, to do so a few days after the match, but the thought of a fire-breathing dragon interrupted him even in the solitude of his Gryffindor dormitory. He counted the days on his fingers silently- it had been almost two weeks since the match, and he still hadn't the courage to take his _Firebolt_ out on a morning flight. He realized with a start that his next chance to fly over the Great Lake would come after the restart of the school year.

His watch ticked miserably; it was still half past two in the afternoon- six hours before they would board the train. From the instant he had crawled out of his cozy bed, he had known that the day would go slow. Now, as the large group extinguished the crackling fire and made their way back through the trap door, he began counting how much time it would take to get his trunk packed and ready. He and Lucio led the group, their lit wands held out in front of them. Behind them, trailing close by, was Scorpius, with an extremely satisfied expression on his face. Scorpius would be, James suspected, leaving for the holidays with a smile on his face for the first time ever. Trailing behind Scorpius was Albus, who counted off his fingers, mumbling about items he needed to find and put in his trunk.

The tunnel's floor whispered as their feet kicked up dust. Beside James, Lucio's eyes seemed to scrutinize every inch of the walls and floor he could find; a piece of parchment in his grasp crackling as he drew lines patiently. With the excitement of the shack behind him, James too began to examine the pathway with the light of his wand. If he had learned anything at all in his six years at Hogwarts, it was that most pathways and tunnels somehow managed to find each other eventually. However difficult it was, James knew it was his and Lucio's _duty_ to finish the Marauder's Map. Loud sneezes echoed around them, and the group stopped their long walk as Rose supported herself with the wall. In a flash, she withdrew her hand from the stone, a sound of disgust escaping her mouth.

"What is this?" she said, her scowl looking rather fearsome in the light of Lucio's wand. Stretching out from her fingers and seemingly coming from the wall was a sticky, crumbly substance. She tugged, and it came loose, falling in thick strands to the tunnel floor. James picked it up, holding it to the light. Rubbing it between his fingers, he found it like silk that had been lingering here for centuries. It had dried up entirely, so much so that it tore to pieces when he applied pressure.

"It's all over the place," said Lucio, who had ventured to the back of the group. He kneeled to the floor, his wand light revealing long strands of the substance extending in long lines all over the floor. He sniffed, and an expression of distaste twisted his face.

"What is it?" asked James.

"I don't know," he replied. "But it smells awful."

"Like something died in here," said Dominique, speaking for the first time that day. James noted the edge of tension lingering in her tone. The group was quiet, and James listened for anything untoward, but there seemed to be nobody but them in this lonely tunnel. Its circumference was wide enough to accommodate more than a few people, but for now, it only accommodated them. In the suffocating silence, the group seemed stiff with fear.

James and Lucio abandoned their examination immediately; they wanted nothing more than to leave. A cloud of darkness seemed to float within the tunnel, as if a great danger had once thrived inside it. Some secrets of Hogwarts, James had to admit, were far too frightening to explore. His footsteps quickened. After a sharp turn- the only change in direction they needed to take – the silky substance no longer littered the ground. Though the people behind him still held their sordid expressions, he heaved a sigh of relief. It was almost as if a stale scent accompanied the strands, weighing down their hands. Without it crumbling around him, James inhaled copious amount of air, finding pleasure in how clean it felt.

After what seemed a lifetime, he found the runes on the left side of the tunnel. The light of two wands revealed its intricate etching across the wall- words and sentences that he could not understand. When they had entered the tunnel and shut the door behind them, Lucio had found the runes terribly interesting, glaring at them furiously, but even with his Outstanding Ancient Runes _OWL,_ he could not decipher their meaning. Scorpius raised a fair finger, tracing the outline of the stone wall. Like the wall leading to Diagon Alley at the Leaky Cauldron, the stones parted noisily before revealing the Astronomy Tower's corridor. They clambered out, moans of relief escaping their lips as the dimly lit corridor lay before them. Before they separated, James grabbed Lucio's arm.

"Let's fly over the lake, before we leave," he simply said, his green eyes finding Lucio's startling blues. He communicated with his eyes as much as he could, and the Slytherin boy seemed to understand, nodding with a smile.

"Next year's _NEWT_ year, we won't get as much time, good idea," he said, checking his watch quickly. "I'll get my trunk packed, and let's meet outside Hagrid's?"

James grinned, giving his friend a thumbs-up. But before the group could make their separate ways, Scorpius started as if to say something, but as soon as his mouth opened, it closed. James frowned, before nudging Scorpius with his elbow.

"Join us. Have you ever flown over the Great Lake?" he asked the blond-haired boy, who shook his head.

"Do you know how to fly?" Lucio asked, his eyes narrowing when Scorpius nodded. James thought Lucio would ask, angrily, why Malfoy hadn't tried out for the Slytherin team, but he remained silent.

"But," Scorpius began feebly. "I don't have a broom."

"Use mine," said a quiet and gentle voice. Rose, her numerous freckles hidden by her hair, smiled nervously. Before another bout of awkward silence spread over them, Lucio grinned and threw his arm around his junior, tugging him away and towards their Common Room.

The six Gryffindors trudged up to the Fat Lady's portrait, the girls taking the spiral staircase into their rooms first. Albus and the Longbottoms left James waiting at the foot of the steps. In moments, Rose appeared, panting, and tossed him the shiny broomstick she was cradling in her arms. Its gold embossed name, _Firebolt,_ glinted beautifully in the light of the Gryffindor Common Room, which was empty of its usual occupants.

Once in the confines of his dormitory room, James began rummaging through the desk at his bedside. Making little noise behind him was Francis, who had already packed most of his things. Just as James reached for the cage hanging by the window, a snowy white owl soared into the room. Even Francis paused to watch Hedwig's progress as she wove around the room, elegantly spreading her wings. The owl had been a gift from his father, given to him on the very day he boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time. She was named after an old friend, he had said. With a rattle, she soared into the cage after nuzzling James' cheek affectionately. Putting the cage on the window sill, he turned to see Francis reclining on his bed, staring out of the window and into the blue sky. After a questioning look from James, he sighed.

"I feel like it's getting over," he said, his usually serious face breaking into an almost longing expression, "Too soon."

Francis Longbottom rarely revealed his thoughts, but on the rare occasion he did, it was usually to James. James would truly miss these- the rather philosophical conversations they shared. They would talk through the night, drinking Butterbeer they snuck out of the kitchens, talking about everything from Hogwarts to their families. Francis was removed from the hustle of the castle; he rarely spoke, and he wasn't too interested in Quidditch, but he was by far one of the most interesting people James had ever had the privilege to meet. James nodded.

"One more year, and it's all over. I've been thinking about that all day."

"Are you still sticking to your dream? The Auror dream?" Francis asked.

"I-" stuttered James, slightly taken- aback. "I think. What about you?"

"I decided a few days ago, but it's going to take a lot of hard work. I'm going to need way more _NEWTs_ than you."

"Oh? Minister for Magic, right after graduating? Bit ambitious, don't you think?" James said, laughing. Francis chuckled, shaking his head.

"Department of Mysteries," he said in a serious whisper that carried across the room. James let out a low whistle.

"Well, if anyone can do it, you can," he said, peering at his friend from behind his open trunk. "I mean, it's not like you don't have the time."

"True," said Francis, smirking.

James shut his trunk with a huff, and grasped the handles of both _Firebolts_ firmly.

"See you on the train?" he asked, at the door. Francis nodded.

"Don't get eaten by the dragon," he called out, as James sprinted down the stairs.

He met Lucio and Scorpius in front of Hagrid's cabin, which seemed empty of the Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Both Slytherins were dressed like Muggles, in faded blue jeans and t-shirts. Each wore a coat and a green scarf that fluttered behind them as they rose into the air.

The two Captains flew on either side of Scorpius, who looked wildly excited to be on a broom. For the first few moments, they moved slowly through the air. But it became evident very soon that young Scorpius was as adept at handling a broomstick as the other two, as he sped away in front of them. He dived, Rose's _Firebolt_ cutting through the air before he took a sharp turn and rose vertically. Grinning, James and Lucio held nothing back, soaring towards the lake with the blond boy at their heels.

The Lake spread out before them like a vast black sheet, and as they approached its surface, James saw the ghostly silhouette of the giant squid in its deep slumber. They streaked past its submerged tentacles, marveling at the extent of its reach. James watched as the waters parted slightly as he came closer and closer to its surface, before rising into the air until the entire lake was but a speck on the ground. From this altitude, he could see the enormous space that the Forbidden Forest took up in the distance. Its green and black canopies stretched farther than the eye could follow.

In the beginning, the Forbidden Forest had been a terribly intriguing thing to James. Soon after the Sorting Hat declared him a Gryffindor, he had sat in silence as the Headmistress made a few start-of-term announcements. One of these was to explicitly stay away from the Forbidden Forest. In truth, James only had to hear 'forbidden' to get excited about the prospect of entering the dark forest. His excitement was soon extinguished when he realized how _vast_ the forest actually was. On his morning flights around the castle, he had never wandered beyond a certain point above the forest- and after his first sight of the gigantic waterbody and its host, he never wanted to fly anywhere else.

The three boys floated high in the sky, allowing the clouds to sift in between their bodies. Suddenly, Scorpius seemed to break out of his reverie. The end of his broom swiveled in another direction, and he zoomed away, his hair flying behind him. Shooting puzzled looks at each other, Lucio and James followed. The lake behind them was dwarfed by the green forest that spread out below them. As they soared above the canopy, James saw what Scorpius had noticed- a break in the normal. If he had been alone, he would not have noticed the strange clearing. As the three flew down to the forest, James realized rather irritably that Lucio had found a new talent. They touched down quietly, leaving their brooms in a cluster. Three gleaming _Firebolts_ shone in the bright sunlight.

"What happened here?" asked Scorpius, looking around in dismay. The trees had been felled, and cinders littered the ground. James took a step forward, kicking up black soot. Immediately, he turned to Lucio, who stood in the middle of the clearing.

"Do you think? The-" he began excitedly.

"Dragon? It would be interesting if it were, but I don't think so," said Lucio dully, pointing at the center of the clearing, where, unnoticed, a bunch of blackened wooden logs covered in a fine layer of ash was piled. Wisps of smoke rose from the crumbling mass.

"A camp fire," Scorpius said quietly, drawing his wand. "Someone was here."

"Not too long ago, by the looks of it," said James, kneeling to look at the still smoldering coals. Immediately, all three of them heard a distinct rustle of leaves emanate from the dark forest around them. James was on his feet in an instant. The three of them circled the camp fire, backs to each other, gazing out into the dark trees.

James felt a ball drop within his stomach as he looked into the Forbidden Forest, seeing nothing but darkness. The sunshine that fell over the clearing seemed to darken, and he had the startling feeling of being cornered. In his excitement, he had not realized how much ground Scorpius had covered when he spotted the clearing. In their haste to uncover a new mystery, the three had left themselves defenseless, bang in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. The three of them stood very silently. James mused, even in the tension knotting his shoulders, that they resembled the stone griffins outside McGonagall's office. And then, they heard it: the familiar sound of a string being pulled taut.

" _Accio brooms!"_ Lucio raised his wand in a flash, and the three _Firebolts_ soared towards them, just as James caught an odd silvery sheen in the air above him. They looked up to see a gigantic steel net appear over the clearing, slowly spreading over their heads.

"Fly!" yelled James, mounting almost as soon as the broom touched his palm. After a swift glance to make sure Scorpius and Lucio understood, he urged the _Firebolt_ forward. Hating the fact that he was hurtling headlong into the unknown, James cut through the darkness, narrowly avoiding the massive trunks.

They had flown forward with no direction; they did not know if they flew towards Hogwarts or not, but it did not matter as the three zipped through the forest, their broomsticks inches away from the black forest floor at times. It required a far stronger focus than being in open air, with only Bludgers to avoid; here, they needed to avoid _everything,_ and they didn't have the space to do it. His heart hammering madly, he prayed that Scorpius and Lucio followed him. At the back of his mind, he worried especially about the Malfoy Fourth Year. He made a mental note to ensure that Scorpius Malfoy made it home, no matter what.

Lucio's jet black hair was flattened by the stale-smelling wind as he moved left and right to avoid collisions with the trees. For the first time in his life, Lucio was thoroughly frightened- and it was partly because of the trees. Every time he flew past, a nagging thought pulled at his mind. Something told him that the trees were not the only beings around them. He could see James ahead of him, and from the corner of his well-trained eye, he could, thankfully, see Scorpius, whose pale complexion and blond hair stood out in the darkness.

His eyes trained on the back of James' head, he saw the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain tilt his gaze very slightly to the right. The subtle movement was so quick, he almost didn't catch it, but he was lucky he did. As the tree trunks blurred together, he saw unnatural movement flicker in the corner of his eye. Together, he and Scorpius swerved to the left, a faster turn than Lucio had ever managed before. As soon as James Potter confirmed that his friends were still with him, the _Firebolt_ under his body seemed to blaze forward. Alarmed, Lucio wanted to yell out to his friend that they were going much too fast, but before he did so, a voice in his head told him that James would not take a risk without the need for it.

In an irregular pattern, Lucio began glancing left and right as much as possible. Even though most of what he could discern was blurs, he saw silhouettes that justified the speed they were going at. He could not discern blur from blur, but he could make out body parts- long limbs, hair, even faces. Scorpius stayed close by, remaining by his side. As his surroundings flashed by, he saw what James had seen. Every few seconds, a glimpse of a moving shadow appeared, struggling to keep pace with their broomsticks. The shadows were numerous, as if an army slumbered in the Forbidden Forest, only to be awoken by their foolish curiosity. He gritted his teeth in frustration- the intense concentration the three boys required to stay on their brooms destroyed their ability to defend themselves with their wands. He didn't want to imagine how vulnerable three wandless boys on broomsticks looked to the strangest group of forest-dwellers he had seen.

Sunlight filled Lucio's eyes all of a sudden. They had flown straight out of the trees and into a narrow corridor- a long passage littered with jagged tree stumps. Now out of the darkness of the forest, Lucio and Scorpius could see James ahead of them. As they watched, he seemed to pull back, cutting his speed almost in half. By the time they caught up, James had raised his wand and was pointing it at the very end of the corridor. With thumping hearts, they saw a tall figure waiting for them- a human being dressed in ragged clothes. Over six feet tall and absolutely still, the man sent shivers that Lucio felt down his backbone. His abnormally large presence felt unreal, and the fact that he seemed to lay in waiting made it seem far more frightening. They flew closer and closer, all three of them with outstretched wands. In a flash, a large hand swiped at them from the right, and a _Firebolt_ rolled onto the grassy floor. When James and Lucio whipped around, they saw Scorpius being held by the neck in a vice grip. A gigantic specimen of a woman grasped him like a stick. With a single muscular arm, she was slowly extracting a blue tinge from Scorpius' cheeks. The woman had waist-length, black, hair matted with what looked suspiciously like blood. The stench of staleness filled Lucio's nose. In any other situation, he would have fired a curse at her faster than she could look at him, but the corded muscles that ran down her arm made him think twice; she held Scorpius like a matchstick she could snap between her fingers.

James had his wand fixed on the man at the end of the corridor, but his broom did not move forward. For a moment, all was still. In those seconds, Lucio thought all was lost. Any second, the enemy would surge out of the trees and into the empty corridor. Just like the clearing, this long stretch of massacred trees could be the end of them. To make it worse, he was convinced that Scorpius Malfoy was about to die; his face looked bloodless, and he was gasping for air, his hands flailing wildly. Just then, there was a flash of light and a roar of flames, and Scorpius was thrust backwards, landing on his chest and rolling to his feet. A scream of fury rent the silence, and the woman holding Scorpius like a doll was on her knees, cradling her arm, which was now as blackened and smoldering as the campfire that had begun the chase. As they watched, the burnt limb collapsed into a pile of dust, and the woman's pain tore at Lucio's ears. Like clockwork, men and women leapt out of the forest. They came in groups and pairs, keeping very close to one another. The scent of dirt emanating from them made him wince.

Lucio's first impression was of a gigantic tribe- for he could see nobody that resembled a wizard or witch. As they huddled in a ferocious group, not a single one raised a wand. Instead, they turned with menacing faces to snarl, as one, at the three boys. James, closest to the group, was as still as a statue, but there was no fear in his eyes. His raised wand-hand did not waver, and perhaps this was why the enemy did not advance. Lucio, thinking quickly, realized that when the group realized that a sixteen year old held them at bay, they would come, and they would come like a storm.

"We need a diversion," he murmured to himself, and Scorpius nodded mutely beside him.

As if the forest heard him, there came a roar like no other from its depths: an almost human, almost beast-like bellow that shook the ground. The tribe was thrown into frenzy, and, before the three boys could as much as move, they had disappeared into the dark trees. An abnormally large flock of birds black as night took off in fright, flapping their tiny wings towards the lake.

" _Accio Firebolt!"_ yelled Scorpius, stretching out his hand. Immediately, with James in the lead, the three boys rose into the sky, turning towards the castle in the distance. They flew like a thousand Golden Snitches fluttered ahead of them.

With a deft hand, Rose curled her red hair around her ears. She bent, picked up the crimson scarf, and wrapped it around her neck. Immediately, she felt the blood rushing back to her skin. The long bridge that ended with a spiral staircase to the Owlery was quiet as a whisper, apart from the rustling pages of _Enchanted Encounters_ by Fifi LaFolle. Nestled at the foot of the staircase, Dominique's eyes drifted from line to line with absolute focus. Lily sat on a step, rubbing her hands together for warmth. Dressed in a shirt too big for him and a pair of worn out jeans, Albus leaned on the railing, looking out into the grounds with a frown on his face.

"They should have been back by now," he was saying, glancing at his watch. "The train will be here soon. Really, it's not like it's their last year _already._ "

Lily nodded very slightly, as if she agreed but did not agree. Suddenly, _Enchanted Encounters_ slammed shut with a loud _thud._ Albus and Rose started in surprise. Dominique rose to her feet, her hair cascading around her. Her usual stiff expression was replaced by an emotion that surprised Albus- concern. And when she spoke, he heard a tone most unlike Dominique Weasley.

"Something happened," she said, matter-of-factly, gazing out into the distance, where a flock of small black birds soared across the lake. Albus realized with a start that Dominique's eyes were precisely the same shade as his father's. But there was something vastly different as well, but he couldn't see _what._

Before Albus could determine how different Dominique's eyes were from Harry Potter's, Lily made a sound halfway between a squeak and a gasp. Three silhouettes in the setting sun seemed to appear out of thin air. James, Lucio, and Scorpius surged through the air, and Albus could've sworn he saw the lattermost glance behind him. He stiffened, his hand closing around his wand in his back pocket, but no pursuers emerged behind his friends. But still, they rocketed towards the Owlery with all the possible haste they could muster.


	7. Chapter 6: Knockturn Alley

**Chapter 6: Knockturn Alley**

Plumes of smoke rose in clouds over Diagon Alley. Harry covered his mouth with his sleeve, directing a jet of water from his wand at the roaring flames. A number of wizards and witches around him were hunched in the same way, trying to douse what had turned into the largest fire Harry had seen since watching the Room of Requirement go down in a Fiendfyre inferno. He was furious, gripping his wand tightly.

"As if we didn't already have other problems," he muttered viciously. "In broad daylight, that too…"

"Harry! Harry!"

Harry turned to see Ron and George run up to him, pulling out their wands. In an instant, water gushed out and into what had been Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions Shop.

"What happened?" yelled Ron, his orange hair looking fearsome in the flames. Harry shook his head, not changing his gaze.

"No idea," he yelled back. "There was an explosion, and then three buildings went up. I got here five minutes ago!"

A Patronus had alerted Harry the instant Diagon Alley had been attacked, and before it could fade away, he had apparated. While he was thankful he had posted Aurors here, he was constantly reminded of how _easy_ it had been. In the rush for safety and initial panic, along with the extinguishing of the fire, it would have been a simple task to escape. He felt fifteen again, and unable to move while Voldemort picked out his family and friends for slaughter. It was a sort of helplessness that made him wild with fury. Now, the sight of the silver sheen of a Patronus Charm made him jolt; in the absence of Dementors to use it on, it felt like Patronuses had become bringers of bad news.

There had been no time to breathe- things were happening too quickly for them to react properly. A break-in at Gringotts, the first of its kind since _he_ did it, three attacks on Diagon Alley, the murder of one Rosalind Blane, and on top of everything, werewolves roaming Britain. His instincts did not take him very far in these situations, and even Hermione could not control _everything._ Fenrir's revelation had hit him hard- to think that Remus Lupin was just _one_ of the werewolf's multitudes of victims repulsed him. Above all, Fenrir Greyback had somehow beaten them at a game they didn't know they were playing. Harry's hand almost subconsciously drifted to his forehead. Even before he was born, before his parents were brutally murdered, Lord Voldemort had, ignorantly, moved a chess piece none of them had counted on. Even in death, Riddle had a way of worming into the darkest recesses of the magic world.

When he entered his office a few hours later, he had nothing to say to anyone. He buried himself in his paperwork, signing and reading with absolute focus. The hours flew by, and his work was not punctured by thoughts of goblins and werewolves. It was only when he signed the last bit of parchment that Harry realized that his Aurors had not found the werewolves. Teddy Lupin remained in the small cabin assigned to him, waiting patiently for news. In the past three days, the best wizards with top-class investigative abilities had hit brick walls time and time again, for there seemed to be no sign of wolfish activity _anywhere._ He could hear the continual sound of his godson rapping the table with his wand, and it made him anxious. If Remus were here, Harry wondered, would he approve of his son spearheading an attack on ferocious werewolves? Remus's face swam before Harry, and he reminded himself that nobody knew if the werewolves were like Fenrir Greyback at all. But something in the way Fenrir had said it made the hair at the back of Harry's neck stand up…

Deep in his heart, he believed that it was the right choice. More than anything, he understood. Just as he had always known that he would strike the final nail in Voldemort's coffin, Teddy Lupin seemed to know that a fight with Fenrir Greyback's pals began and ended with _him._ Harry did not mean to merely send Teddy into the fray; a fleeting image of Remus holding him back penetrated his mind, accompanied by his raw yells for Bellatrix Lestrange's blood. He supposed, with a sigh, that he would never forget Sirius's death in the Department of Mysteries. He was thankful- because on that day, Remus had unconsciously told him how to handle his son.

"This is not a revenge match," Harry told Teddy firmly in the confines of his office, soon after Kingsley and Hermione left them. Teddy had nodded immediately.

"It's not personal. I get it."

Still, Harry knew that when Teddy came face to face with Greyback's army, unexpected hatred would rise within him like fire. He had felt it, when Sirius Black's face drifted into his mind, repeatedly falling behind the veil, and all he could think of was cutting Bellatrix Lestrange into as many pieces as possible. If he had been allowed to run after her right from the start, he wouldn't have been alive to think of the story. He intended on holding Teddy back when it was needed. He hoped fervently that he would have the capacity and the time to be by his godson's side. Twirling his wand aimlessly, he remembered that his plans never really went the way he wanted them to.

His heart beating faster than it had in decades, Draco sprinted before leaping over a set of stairs so broken they looked like they would crumble beneath his feet. He felt the full weight of his body press down on his ankles as he landed, and he bounced forward. He had lost sight of the criminal minutes ago, but the sound of pattering footsteps was a constant companion he listened for. The sounds of shoppers and a roaring fire had long since been left behind; there was no life where he had gone.

His cloak flapped behind him like his Quidditch robes had fluttered in the air, and his speed began to remind him of life as a schoolboy. As memories of Hogwarts poured into Draco, he felt distaste for himself like no other. He held his wand tighter, just as the hem of a grey cloak disappeared behind a corner. When he skidded to a halt, there was nothing to see- a dead end, with blackened walls and a dirty pathway. Finally stationary, he caught his breath; he had been running all the way from Diagon Alley.

His memory held true; he remembered most of the grime and dirt, though much of it had changed. His prey must have realized, at some point, that his pursuer knew Knockturn Alley too well to lose his way. There was no sign of climbing on the walls, and all was quiet. Draco bent, his fingers grazing the dirty pathway. Almost immediately, he heard the _whoosh_ of a spell. Leaping forward, he tumbled over himself to avoid the Killing Curse as it shattered the wall. Before he could register the green jet of light and how long it had been since he had seen it, he had been cornered.

The solid walls on either side loomed over him, and for a moment, he saw it like the walls of the Room of Requirement- falling to pieces amid a raging assault of flames. But these walls were hard and cold, frosted with ice. Names of spells began flitting into his thoughts, and memories of duels along with them. His arm felt weighted, like he held an instrument much heavier than a simple wand. It's cool wooden surface was smooth in his rough hands, and sparks shot out. Ollivander's new creation had never been used in combat before, and Draco had never been too eager to try it out. If he had to be honest with himself, he never imagined himself in a situation requiring combat ever again. The thought of spells whipping around each other, streams of green and red and yellow cutting each other like explosive lines, made him stiffen with remembrance. For so long, casting a simple spell had been a challenge, only because Draco feared for his family's safety. It took him more than a few years to pick up his weapon again.

With Astoria's gentle touch guiding him, he began to practice the smallest of spells. He levitated things towards him instead of summoning them; he worked every day to assert the utmost control over every single iota of magic he cast. Even on the day of his quiet and secretive marriage, Draco refused to cast a single spell. When Astoria suggested he work on disarming her, he refused vehemently. From that day onward, he practiced by his lonesome. With no eyes watching him, he rehearsed every spell in the book, and more. His years of fear had left him weak, vulnerable, and most of all, furious with himself.

By the time Scorpius was old enough to go to Hogwarts, Draco had realized how vital it was for him to control his powers. He told himself, as he watched the Hogwarts Express pull away with his son, that he would need to be _strong._ It was far too late for Draco to change who he was; the mark on his arm reminded him of that every day. People feared him, _loathed_ him even, for in their eyes, he would always be a Death Eater. In the confines of his home, he never cared much for what people thought of him. The Malfoy line had been corrupted, dirtied, stained, and nothing would change that. Scorpius, Draco knew, would be targeted, and targeted with malice matching his own childish hatred for Harry Potter. If that hatred could be compared, Draco knew he had to protect his son.

Time seemed to move much slower for Draco Malfoy as he faced his attacker. He felt vulnerable suddenly, in his clean, creased suit. His pale face was affixed on the masked man blocking his way. The mask was cruel, twisted, and grotesque to look at. He could not place why it looked so very familiar, but he could not think about it- the more the mask stared at him, the more Draco realized that he hadn't dueled in a long time. He wasn't sure he had the confidence to fend anybody off, let alone a pyromaniac wandering Knockturn Alley.

But as the Killing Curses crashed around him, dissecting walls and crushing rock, the faces of his wife and son flickered in his mind. Panic blossomed in his heart, before a sight he could not forget filled his head- Harry Potter, high in the air, extending his hand towards Draco, and an inferno of Fiendfyre raging below. Draco snarled.

Knockturn Alley flashed like a fireworks display as arcs of light came together, slim lines of death. The masked intruder moved with a nonchalance both infuriating as well as condescending. Hidden behind the growling mask, the coward had not realized the beast he had awoken just yet. But soon, Draco Malfoy was coming closer, step by step. Waves of heat radiated around him as he flicked and slashed his wand repeatedly, bouncing spells off walls. His wand arm was blurred, and the mask could not keep up. Dressed in dull grey, the fire-starter turned on his heel, but Draco was too quick.

 _SECTUMSEMPRA!_

Blood sprouted from the man's legs as the spell cut deep into his calves. He tumbled to his knees, falling flat on his face. Suddenly, a blur of a human- being leapt into the scene, and Draco realized too late. He saw a wand being drawn, and a hand grab the masked man's collar.

" _EXPELLIARMUS!"_ he yelled, pointing his wand. There was a loud _crack_ and the pair of men had apparated. Knockturn Alley was silent for a moment before a wand clattered to the pavement.

Draco raised his wand again, and a bright and sunny image of baby Scorpius, his little fingers wrapped around his father's thumb, made him focus. A silver creature leapt out of the tip of the wooden instrument, sleek and lean. It gazed at him intensely before disappearing in a flash of white. Somewhere in the Ministry of Magic, it would find _him._


	8. Chapter 7: Repair

**Chapter 7: Repair**

When the silver leopard sailed through the open window and landed noiselessly on the ground, Harry turned his head in dismay. Before he realized that it was a Patronus he had never seen in his life, a very familiar voice filled the room. Teddy craned his neck, his head sticking out of his cabin. Harry gripped his chair so hard his knuckles turned white as the beast poised in front of him. It shook its head with nobility, the spots on its fur luminescent. A minute later, Teddy and he had disapparated out of the Ministry of Magic.

The fine layer of dirt covering Knockturn Alley made Teddy sneeze almost immediately. Harry scanned his surroundings. The walls were blackened and dark, but a dark liquid had fallen in splatters on the cobblestone pathway. Even in the lack of illumination, Harry could tell what the thick drops were. Like a gargoyle perched on a wall, Draco Malfoy leaned, looking as much a part of the scenery as the dark walls.

" _Lumos,"_ Teddy whispered, drawing his wand as he followed the blood. The sudden light made Malfoy blink, and Harry saw his old arch-enemy's face. For moments, they stared at one another.

Once Teddy followed the droplets to a large puddle of sticky blood, he found the wand. Raising it to eye-level, he turned to Harry, who was unresponsive. The tension squirming through the air, occupying the space between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy was highly uncomfortable to witness. Harry held his wand loosely in his hand, but Draco had both his hands deep in his pockets.

It took Harry a few seconds to understand the emotions flitting across Malfoy's face. Rage? Indifference? The same snotty disdain he looked down on others with throughout his years at Hogwarts seemed to have escaped him just now. Without meaning to, Draco stole glances at the wand in Harry's grip, as if he would suddenly raise it at him. When he did not, Draco seemed surprised, but not outwardly so. In his own way, Harry was surprised that his presence had not invoked more of an aggressive reaction from the pure-blood wizard. He seemed feeble, even meek, in front of Harry.

Draco Malfoy's face was like a blank slate- revealing nothing. Harry found it incredibly odd- for the former Hogwarts student and Death Eater had always been an open book to him. Even as they competed in every possible way through their years at Hogwarts, Harry always seemed to understand Draco. At the very end, when he had realized that the owner of the Elder Wand was indeed the boy whose friendship he had rejected, a sort of calmness had enveloped him. All his life, Harry had questioned why he, of all people, had to go through the pain he had gone through. He hated Albus Dumbledore because, at the end of it all, he had not asked for any of the breakneck turns and tears much of his life seemed to revolve around. At some point, Draco Malfoy had felt a similar feeling, though under the thin disguise of a luxurious life and a noble line. He put Draco and Dudley in the very same league, for there was no malicious, bullying Dudley without a Vernon and Petunia, and there was no condescending, cowardly Draco without a Lucius.

Amazingly, the Malfoy that stood in front of him seemed a different human being altogether. There was an unwavering feeling about his hard-set eyes, far different from the cold, sly irises Harry was used to. His sleeves covered his arms till the wrists, and though Harry searched for it, he could not see what was left of the Dark Mark from his position.

Silently thinking, Harry began to piece together the events of the day. At the very back of his mind, he had automatically connected Draco Malfoy to the fire at Diagon Alley. He knew very well that it made no sense- but some part of him wanted to believe it anyway. He had not hesitated for an instant before apparating into Knockturn Alley, but that was purely because he was confident in his own abilities to defend himself and Teddy. It struck him in that moment that Draco Malfoy could be as dishonest as he always had been- the Patronus could have summoned Teddy and he to their doom. But there was a reluctant part of him that could not see Draco Malfoy as an enemy- and it was partly because the silver-blond man seemed absolutely indifferent, and hardly aggressive. Draco Malfoy did not look like the Draco Malfoy Harry knew.

By Harry's third year at Hogwarts, Draco began resembling his father. Semblances of Lucius Malfoy remained in his son, but the sharp cheekbones made his face look thinner, and not as well-fed. His eyes no longer held the contempt it seemed to always have; Draco's eyes were stony and still, almost driven. Though the suit was crumpled beyond measure, Harry could see the Malfoy noble line standing before him. Lines marked the areas on his face around his eyes, like he had aged too quickly, and his hair no longer held its luster- it was pale, silvery, reminding Harry strongly of Xenophilius Lovegood.

" _Priori Incantatem,"_ murmured Teddy, holding up the bloodstained wand. Immediately, green sparks shot out of it, followed by an image of a tiny flame flickering above its tip. Harry's godson turned to him, his face serious.

"Killing Curses and _Incendio._ This is the perpetrator's wand," he whispered, looking at the wand like it might burst into flames at any moment.

"I was there when the fire started," explained Draco. "I saw someone running out, and I knew where he was running to. Those Killing Curses were fired at me."

"Then this was organized," said Teddy, looking at Harry, who shot him a look before he went on to mention any four-legged creatures.

"No, they weren't werewolves that apparated away," said Draco, narrowing his eyes. "The one I fought wore a mask. They were wizards."

When Harry looked at him questioningly, Draco pulled out a crumpled _Daily Prophet_ from the depths of his pocket _._ Harry sighed in resignation.

"It seems werewolves aren't your only worry, Potter," said Malfoy, but Harry detected no taunt in his voice.

"It seems so. Masks, you say?"

Draco nodded grimly.

"Should I call the Investigatory Squad?" asked Teddy, after a moment of silence. Harry nodded mutely, before suddenly shaking his head.

"No. Don't tell anybody about this," he said quickly, directing his wand at the multiple spatters of blood.

 _Scourgify._

The ground was scrubbed clean, leaving only shining cobblestone. Teddy looked at Harry inquiringly, but nodded without saying a word. Draco, on the other hand, gazed at where the blood had been, frowning. He looked at Harry sharply.

"Potter," he began. "Do you believe someone in the Ministry knew about the werewolves before Greyback's trial?"

The question took Harry aback entirely; he couldn't hide the shock that registered on his face. His thoughts raced. In all the fear of a goblin-army attacking wizarding Britain, he had not spared a thought for the werewolves. Malfoy wasn't far off- Harry had at some point wondered how an army of werewolves had escaped Ministry notice but it had never struck him that strings could be pulled from _within._ When he heard about the Gold Brotherhood, the first thing he thought of was an enemy _inside_ the Ministry of Magic. But it seemed unlikely- why would the goblins ally with the government that oppressed them for centuries? Sirius and Lupin's voices drifted into his mind, chiding him for his simple-mindedness, and he realized that it wasn't quite so easy to decipher.

"No, not really," said Harry vaguely. "That's not it…"

"But you distrust them all the same."

It was Harry's turn to look up sharply. Draco wore a grim expression, suggesting that he understood far more than what he knew. Again, he was far from wrong. The moment Harry heard that the perpetrator of the Diagon Alley fire went around masked, his walls had gone up. With no known identity, his enemies could be anywhere around him. And with the chaos rising in the wizarding world, as slow and steady as this rise was, Harry preferred to be careful with sensitive information. More than anything, he made his decision based on Hermione. From the day she interpreted Ugnak the Sturdy's journal, she had become rather private and quiet. It seemed evident that nobody but the Minister and Harry knew what she knew- and for some reason, she wanted it that way. From his very first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he had decided to take after her example, and he meant to follow that.

"Yes," he merely said, holding Malfoy's gaze. Teddy squirmed beside him.

"I won't tell anybody, if that's what you're afraid of," assured Draco, directing his gaze at, who nodded. Promptly, he turned on his heel and walked towards what seemed like a dead-end. Harry saw the evidence of the _Avada Kedavra_ spells cast at Draco; the walls had been cut to ribbons, smashed like paper. Malfoy began waving his wand elegantly, sending the pieces back to their original places. Soon, Knockturn Alley looked like it hadn't even been visited, let alone destroyed by a wizards' duel.

The series of events began replaying in Harry's mind, and soon he was lost in his thoughts. The initial panic that had set in no longer weighed him down; he felt slightly more useful, for Draco Malfoy's Patronus had finally brought him _good_ news. So engrossed in his inward ramble was he that he only realized after a chance glance at his watch that his children were coming home for Christmas. A smile tugged at his lips. Excitement filled him, and he almost forgot where he was entirely; he might have even disapparated away without a moment's notice. Before he did, Teddy put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hang on, Harry."

He turned to Draco, who stood still as a statue, still as grim as ever.

"Mr. Malfoy," he began, startling the blond man with the respect in his voice. "Whoever the men behind the masks were, they know your face now. They know you saw them, and you wounded one of them."

A stone sank inside Harry's stomach, and he was unpleasantly surprised to feel concern for Draco Malfoy. He nodded seriously. Malfoy snorted.

"I'd like to see them try," he said. "I think I gave _that_ one something to remember me by. But I have you to thank for that, Potter, considering how you used it on me first."

Harry frowned, puzzled, and then remembered the way the blood had splattered the cobblestone.

"Sectumsempra…" he said. Draco nodded, looking at Harry as if he might yell at him for using the spell.

A vivid picture of a bloody bathroom darkened Harry's gaze. He remembered venturing in, hearing Draco's pained sobs. The duel had been quick- much too quick. He had not known what Snape's spell would do, but he had cast it nonetheless. Like arching blades, the dark magic sliced into Draco's chest, leaving him a bloody heap on the wet floor. At that moment, his heart beat stilled. The sight of that much blood traveling swiftly across the bathroom tiles paralyzed Harry. He thought he had killed Draco Malfoy that day. Gazing down at his hands and at the slim stick of wood in his grasp, he felt like the Slytherin boy's blood would stain him forever. It had not been a triumphant moment, rather, a moment of utmost failure. Had Snape not healed him, had Snape not been the Half-Blood Prince…

"I didn't think I'd ever hear of it again," he murmured pensively.

"I never forgot it," said Draco, his eyes thoughtful as he remembered how close to death he had been. Perhaps, Harry thought, Draco realized that the wand that almost killed him was but feet away. Harry sighed, sweeping his hair out of his forehead.

"Good thing you didn't. The only person with the counter-curse died a long time ago."

Draco nodded silently, a pained expression crossing his face as he recalled the melodic chant that Severus Snape had used to keep him alive.

Harry slipped the perpetrator's wand into his pocket. Wrapping his cloak warmly around his shoulders, he prepared to disapparate, but a nagging feeling tugged at him. He felt the weight of his own wand double, as if the blood of Draco Malfoy had collected within it ever since his first use of _Sectumsempra._ He looked at the tall blond man. Knockturn Alley's dank smell filled his nostrils. Even though some of the darkest memories of his past had turned up in Malfoy's presence, there was something different about the man. Feeling rather foolish, Harry held out his hand.

It happened very slightly, but Draco's jaw seemed to drop all of a sudden before he regained his composure. Nodding, he took Harry Potter's hand, grasping it firmly as he shook it. It seemed like just yesterday when they shook for the first time, at Madam Malkin's robe store in Diagon Alley. It had been the start of a malicious, childish rivalry, with the hulking figures of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle permanently posted at Malfoy's side. The two men found themselves remembering the very same thing: a night of sneaking out of their dormitories for a duel that never happened. Ron had been Harry's second that night, and their narrow escape from Argus Filch remained a powerful first memory of the corridors of Hogwarts Castle. The memories no longer stung in Harry's head.

"Why don't you and Astoria come over for Christmas?" he said hurriedly, feeling the most astonishing feeling of saying things and wondering why he was saying them at the same time. "Scorpius too, of course."

Draco looked as astonished as Harry was feeling. Teddy looked at Harry, open-mouthed. Once Draco recovered, he laughed rather awkwardly.

"Thanks, Potter, but judging by the way we got along, I wonder if Slytherins and Gryffindors mingle at all."

Harry smirked, nodding with disguised relief. Even though Lucio Zabini had graced their Godric's Hollow home more than once, Harry had never once felt like the boy had been in Slytherin. His friendship with James was different, entirely out of the ordinary. Scorpius Malfoy, though Harry knew nothing of him, had not been mentioned by even Albus, who could talk for hours to his father about every single person he met at school. The last of these conversations had only been last term; Albus came back every Christmas with a bucket load of information and gossip.

Occasionally, his youngest son would write him a lengthy letter, extending for inches and inches of parchment, almost as much as Hermione's school essays. But as the years wore on, the frequency of the letters reduced, so much so that the most interesting letter Harry received was from his old teacher, Professor McGonagall. Only now, when scanning his mind for any mention of Scorpius Malfoy at Hogwarts, did he remember the First Year student that had been sorted into Ravenclaw just a few months ago. McGonagall's letter had caught him incredibly off-guard, for the owl swooped in just as Harry opened up the morning's _Daily Prophet._ It had been short, crisp, and most of all, correct. At the end of her letter, she made it clear that she believed in the utmost discretion on the subject- that nobody really _needed_ to know. Harry agreed after reading, but he could never truly dismiss it from his mind.

Out of his children, not one but James knew who Draco Malfoy was. Harry had, reluctantly and in brief, explained the gist of who the Slytherin former- Death Eater was to him. But none of his children knew Dudley Dursley. It hung like a shadow over him ever since McGonagall's letter. The name had been all but driven from his mind after finding out about the Gold Brotherhood. He wondered, with deep pity, if the eleven year old Eileen Dursley knew that, in a magical world entirely new to her, her cousins roamed the halls of Hogwarts. He didn't think Dudley would have told his daughter of him, but if he had to be honest, he had never foreseen a situation so strange. After resisting an urge to send an owl to his cousin, Harry decided to keep the information to himself. Luckily, McGonagall agreed with his decision; if his children knew the damaging history that their fathers had had, he wasn't certain how they would react. It irritated him beyond measure; his past seemed to poke him at every corner.

"Merry Christmas," said Draco Malfoy, tugging his jacket tighter over his shoulders. In the moonlight, he looked like his father, with less of an upturned nose. With a _crack,_ he disappeared from sight. Feeling strange, Harry and Teddy found themselves silently standing in the middle of the alley. Teddy frowned, but then brightened up suddenly. He nudged his godfather.

"Let's get home quick, James and the others will be back," he said, but his voice sounded distant. Harry grinned.

"And Victoire too."

Teddy blushed furiously, the color of his hair taking on the fierce orange of Victoire Weasley's. With a _crack_ , the pair disapparated out of Knockturn Alley.


	9. Chapter 8: Christmas at the Potters

**Chapter 8: Christmas at the Potter's**

Great sheets of snow and ice sloughed off the rooves of Godric's Hollow under the setting sun. An orange glow, reminiscent of the fiery colors of Godric Gryffindor, hung over the houses like a cloak. Harry and Teddy caught the last few simmering moments of sunlight as they walked on the beaten pathway. With a sudden surge of nostalgia within him, Harry remembered walking through the Hollow, Hermione at his side, before Nagini assaulted them from Bathilda Bagshot's wrinkly corpse. Though the worn path reminded him of the past, the houses no longer seemed unwelcoming. A permanent sense of ease filled him when he walked through the village that his parents had lived in- a feeling of comfort and happiness that only a few places could give him.

The statue of a young James and Lily Potter, cradling his infant body in their arms, glimmered in the sunlight as frost melted to the ground. His first time seeing it had left him feeling wrangled, and the hole in his heart seemed to only enlarge, but over the years, his parents' stone faces began to smile at him as he passed. The sounds of Christmas echoed all over the village, and silver lanterns like Patronuses floated in the air. From afar, Harry could hear the sounds of children playing, and soon enough, he could make out a host of small figures frolicking in the white snow.

As Harry approached the open gate and looked up at the Potters', he almost saw the untouched wreckage of Voldemort's backfired Killing Curse again. Restoring the house had been one of his proudest achievements, for though the village had left it alone in respect to Lily and James, they allowed the only remaining Potter to bring it to life once again. The new house resembled the two places Harry would never forget- Hogwarts Castle and the Burrow. The rooms rose into the sky like the layers of a wedding cake, but their arrangement was not as haphazard and tilted as Ron and Ginny's first home. Behind the structure stood six miniature silver hoops, encompassed by a white chalk circle- their little Quidditch field. On some days, Harry found himself zipping between the hoops on his old _Firebolt,_ reminiscing his days as the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Ginny's fierce taste for bright colors was painted all over the house; initially, Harry had hoped she wasn't anything like Ron- for Ron's room at The Burrow bled Chudley Cannon orange, and though he loved the room, Harry did not want his eyes to bleed. Fortunately, Ginny had a fascination for planets and stars, Muggle art, artefacts she had collected over the years, and memoirs of Hogwarts and her friends. Harry smiled woefully to himself; he couldn't deny that the twinkling stars shining above Lily's bed were tempting to look at.

Gifts from friends and family littered the house. The low gate, rusted and old from a distance, was an intricate and pleasantly surprising gift from Aberforth Dumbledore, who, Harry mused, seemed to have more of the enchanting Transfiguration ability his brother had had than he gave himself credit for. The metal was magically wrought to read the names of every member of the Order of the Phoenix in history along with their extensive families- from Frank and Alice Longbottom to Fred Weasley. Aberforth, with his permanently disgruntled expression, had proceeded to reveal to Harry the extent of his charm- aside from being a tribute to the dead, the names on the gate belonging to the _living_ were, through the magically sculpted metal, connected in a spell of protection. Within the boundaries of the Potters' short gate, a magical field protected all those mentioned on it.

Stone gargoyles were stationed at each corner; the ghastly faces of the gargoyles outside Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts had always seemed rather comical and friendly to Harry. The gargoyles often winked and made rude comments at passers-by, at times blowing their noses loudly to startle them. As it were, they always had words of greeting to give Harry when he passed by. In the beginning, Ginny had vehemently opposed the addition to the home, until one of the gargoyles complimented her on her haircut.

"At least _he_ noticed," she told Harry viciously as she entered the house. "I like them, they can stay."

Harry had nodded rather feebly, not knowing whether he should be happy or sad.

Mistletoe hung, glinting, on the sleek wooden door. When Harry leaned back and took in the five stories of his home, he noted that every window was decked with a different sort of decoration. At the very top, from James' window, hung red and green lanterns in the shape of broomsticks, in contrast to the silver leaves magically growing and disappearing at the sill of Lily's. As he scrutinized their beauty, he saw red hair whip into sight, and a hand reached out to draw the curtains. Before she disappeared from view, Harry had a pang of happiness as he saw Molly Weasley's familiar face. It seemed that the ability to care unbearably for one's home had been passed down from mother to daughter, for he knew that Ginny had been the brain behind Lily's silver leaves.

Harry knew, even if he would not admit it to Ginny, absolutely nothing about this Christmas dinner. He was aware of his children coming home, but of the other invitees, he was unsure. But as he passed under the threshold and looked into a home decorated from top to bottom, it seemed to him that she had invited the entire Ministry of Magic. As Teddy and he hung their cloaks on the stand, Harry was flung aside unceremoniously. He saw a flash of straight red hair before Teddy was enveloped in Victoire's embrace. He presumed, with some surety, that Victoire knew of Teddy's appointment to the Head of the Hit Wizards. Carefully avoiding the couple, he edged towards the kitchen, where he heard voices. He heard a muffled "Hi, Harry!" from behind him in a slight French accent, and he waved to Bill's oldest daughter even though he could not see her through Teddy.

The kitchen was organized chaos- ladles and spoons moved through the air like spells in a duel, and a great host of scents swirled into Harry's nostrils. Boiling pots of gravy, toasting bread, succulent smells of roasting meat, and at the very end of the kitchen, her red hair flying, was Ginny. At that moment, all of Harry's worries seemed to cease. He forgot about goblins, werewolves, and Diagon Alley fires, instead finding his arms around his wife, who started in surprise.

"Why do you smell like filth?" asked Ginny, her hands in continual motion over the simmering cauldron. Harry sighed; nothing escaped her. If it were, perhaps, a less celebratory night, she would have asked the more pressing questions on her mind. Her nonchalance at the existence of the Gold Brotherhood had not surprised Harry; Ginny usually prioritized other things on her danger list- like the immediate future of her children, but she of all people understood how deep the threat could be. He had shared his insecurities about the Ministry only with her; and now, she, Draco Malfoy, and Teddy were all privy to this information. While Ginny made it clear that she would not let the threat hang over her head, even _she_ understood that evil in the magic world somehow eventually found its way to Hogwarts.

"Long story," he said grimly. "How many people have you invited?"

She frowned, before gesturing to their miniature Quidditch pitch behind the house. When Harry peered around her apron, he saw a multitude of people on his lawn. Ginny had levitated the massive dining table, passed down to her by her mother, right bang in the middle of the grass. A number of smaller tables surrounded it. The dinner would be served in between the six golden hoops. Even from here, Harry could see Ron and Hermione's heads as they walked the perimeter of the garden; Ron enjoyed conversing with the gargoyles.

When Ron had informed Harry that he was relinquishing his post as an Auror, it had taken him a while to grapple with the information properly. A part of him needed Ron by his side; there wouldn't be a better confidante than his best friend. But with Ron gone, it was work as usual; Harry began to feel distanced and older than ever. Hermione was far too busy to have time for a daily conversation, however small it was, and Ron was taking care of the Weasley business. In all fairness, Harry had not needed to approach either of them- his work carried him to different people, people he worked with every day, people that reported to him. All of a sudden, these people seemed behind a wall Harry had constructed himself. With his doubts about the Ministry wavering his resolve, he had not the courage to approach a Ministry employee with his problems. Now, of all times, he needed someone outside the government, someone who trusted him and someone he could trust no matter how dangerous the situation. A frightening part of him wondered if Hermione fit the bill; his open mistrust of the government he worked for put her in an awkward position as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry shook his head angrily; if he didn't trust Hermione, he didn't trust _anyone._

A resounding _crack,_ and Harry heard a pair of footsteps approaching the gate. He reminded himself to be patient; the Christmas party had hardly begun, guests were still arriving- he would have time to speak to Ron and Hermione later. With a grin, he pictured their faces when he told them what had transpired at Knockturn Alley.

James had kept his head sticking out of the window until he saw his father and Teddy make their way through the gate. He had been patiently observing the guests his mother invited as they apparated into Godric's Hollow. Now, plastered to his soft bed, he counted the stars on his ceiling. His mother had asked no questions of him when he preferred to go up to his room and stay there; she had, thankfully, too much on her mind to berate him for being anti- social. He doubted if she'd even moved from the kitchen, considering the number of people she had invited.

He had a few moments of peace before his home turned into a madhouse, and he hoped to spend those moments asleep. Rather unsurprisingly, his mind was buzzing too much. He wished he were back at Hogwarts, eating a Christmas buffet, and then kicking back in Gryffindor Tower with a mug of warm Butterbeer. As it were, he had to put himself through hours of speaking to people he didn't want to speak to.

In his laziness, he wondered what Lucio was doing. Even through his self-pity and boredom, James knew that Lucio wouldn't be having the most fun Christmas either. The Slytherin boy had slowly become quieter and moodier as the days drew closer to the end of December, as he always did before going home for Christmas. Much like the party at the Potters', the Zabinis celebrated their Christmas with pomp and celebration, which, in James' opinion, would be even better. There were no pretenses about the luxury Lucio surrounded himself with- no lies about how grand the Zabini Christmas would be. One day after Professor Binns' endless History of Magic lecture, as the rain cascaded down outside the castle, Lucio had let James in on a secret- that the Zabinis held a special party for 'special' people.

"How are they special?" James had asked, nibbling on a Chocolate frog and staring out of the stained glass windows of the Astronomy Tower. Lucio glowered darkly.

"They're rich and noble."

James frowned, about to comment on how that really wasn't a bad thing.

"And pureblood, James."

"Ah."

Lucio went on to brief James on how he tried, in vain, to hide himself within his room. But the Zabini line was far too special and important to fail to socialize. His mother made it clear that one of his biggest duties was to mingle with the upperclassmen, the noblest bloodlines in the wizarding world. His father seemed indifferent, but in some way, Lucio could see that his father desired him to do these things, even if he didn't say a word. Blaise Zabini, as far as James understood, was quiet and usually spoke with his eyes and facial expressions. Somehow, James thought to himself, Lucio had turned out entirely differently…

While James groaned and moaned in bed, Lucio was in all probability dressed in a suit and tie, greeting guests as they entered his mansion. Sighing, James sat up, swinging his legs onto the ground. The ironed shirt and pair of trousers his mother had left for him hung from a chair. Reluctantly, he plunged his arms into the sleeves, telling himself that time flew, and Christmas was all about happiness. He tucked his wand into his back pocket, and began the climb down the spiral staircase. In truth, he wasn't especially excited about seeing his father. For once, he did not want to leave Hogwarts. If it was left to him, he would have remained, alone, without his friends and family. He was sure McGonagall would let him, too. He envied his father, for most of _his_ holidays had been at Hogwarts. James came to a sudden stop, ashamed of himself. The memory of James Potter I lingered in him through name, and he felt disgusted at himself.

He heard rapid footsteps, and peered down to see a red head bobbing up and down. Rose appeared at the top of the staircase, clutching a thick paper-wrapped book. Albus peeped at him curiously from behind her.

"Ha!" James exclaimed, eagerly waiting as Rosie opened up the book. Its title shone gleaming and new, as if Rose's mother had acquired the book very recently.

He had all but forgotten about it. Aboard the Hogwarts Express, his thoughts had been entirely dominated by the Forbidden Forest. He had come up with no answers, and therefore, his mind resigned itself to _that_ Quidditch match. The silhouette of a gigantic dragon wing in the sky made him forget the peace of the white snow falling, instead making him fidgety, anxious, and annoyed. Rose nudged him in the ribs quite suddenly, making him start. The other occupants in the cabin, mostly his family, were fast asleep. Conversing in whispers, Rose revealed to James that her mother had quite a collection of interesting books, one of which concerned magical creatures in the wizarding world. Initially, she had been aghast when he told her of the creature he and Lucio had seen during their match, exclaiming that the dragon "could've killed all of us at the same time!" One of these books was a recently published copy of _Claws and Fangs: The Most Dangerous Creatures of the Wizarding World_ by Rolf Scamander. His initial excitement about seeing the book had been replaced by the fatigue and boredom of his quiet home. Now, Rose's appearance made him smile for the first time in hours.

She seemed more excited than he had ever seen her. She pulled open the book gently, scanning the contents. Sitting on the first step, she frowned at the pages. She finally stopped at an almost blank page- with one word etched across it. _Dragons._

The pages were fresh and clean, so much so that James did not want to stain it with his fingers. A list of dragon breeds, almost never-ending, filled the next page. Of all of them, James had only heard of the Welsh Green and the Hungarian Horntail, though some names, like the Chinese Fireball, seemed familiar. The other names were new and foreign to him, though Rose traced her index finger down the list as if she had read them before.

"Only a few of these are found in and around Britain, most of them are foreign," she explained. James shook his head; he remembered Charlie Weasley telling him regretfully that only the smallest of dragons call Britain their home. A Horntail had been at Hogwarts, once, years ago- something that made Charlie and James' father chuckle. Nothing bigger than a Horntail had ever graced the countryside, this was something he knew.

"What's the biggest one?" asked James. Rose's finger went to the next page, scooting right down to the bottom, where a name read _Ukranian Ironbelly._ She found the page in an instant.

A shadow-like picture of a dragon dominated the page, along with intricate sketches of a wing's skeletal structure. The shadow reminded James so strongly of the dragon he and Lucio had spotted that his eyes lingered on it until Rose began reading.

" _The Ukrainian Ironbelly is a frightening beast, larger than all its brothers and sisters, more vicious than a flock of Hungarian Horntails, and by far one of the rarest creatures to grace the skies. Reports of an Ironbelly carrying away a ship sailing the Black Sea in 1799 shot the dragon-breed to fame, but it was scarce seen since. The mysterious creature, said to weigh a maximum of six tons and grow to a length of sixty feet, was believed to be extinct until 1998. Classified by the Department of Magical Creatures as highly dangerous and lethal to human beings and creatures alike, the Ironbelly is said to be impossible to tame. During-"_

Rose stopped all of a sudden, and James and Albus looked up at her. Her eyes widened with every word.

"What is it?!" demanded James. Rose looked at him seriously before turning back to the book.

" _During Lord Voldemort's reign at the Ministry of Magic, an Ironbelly was spotted flying out of Gringotts Wizarding Bank's vaults, leaving the bank half-destroyed. The dragon, rarely linked with humans, assisted in the escape of Harry James Potter, Hermione Jean Granger, and Ronald Bilius Weasley, the trio otherwise associated with the downfall of the Dark Lord."_

Rose turned the book around and showed them a picture, captioned " _Released years after the event, this photograph shows Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley atop the Ukrainian Ironbelly said to be guarding the Lestrange vault in Gringotts Wizarding Bank."_ The picture was blurry, but the children could make out their parents lying flat, each clutching a spike on the dragon's spine. James scrutinized his father, who looked nothing like he did at present. The Harry Potter in the photograph made James smile; he could see the likeness in their faces. Meanwhile, Rose gazed with an open mouth at her mother and father. His father's best friends had always cut an impressive figure to James, but now, after seeing what Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley looked like after breaking into the most heavily guarded facility in the wizarding world, he was absolutely shell-shocked. Albus was likewise rendered speechless, frowning as he sized up the photograph a few more times.

When the group made their way downstairs, it was to a flurry of activity. A number of people had arrived in the short amount of time that James spent upstairs. Most corners of the Potter household were occupied by guests. Teddy and Victoire Weasley chatted animatedly at one end of the large white sofa, while Dominique and Percy seemed to be having a rather serious conversation about some sort of Wizarding law. James' father, a slim wine glass in his hand, was laughing almost uncontrollably. Giggling along with him was his old friend and the inspiration behind Lily's middle name, Luna Lovegood, dressed in the strangest dress ever, with what seemed to be tiny silver unicorn horns dangling from her ears. Beside her and in the process of narrating a fairly dramatic story was her husband, and, James realized, the author of the book he couldn't stop thinking about – Rolf Scamander. The man reminded James of an old picture of his father he had seen- of Harry Potter on a _Firebolt_ clutching a golden egg. His red-brown hair was wild and messy, but he was tall and straight-backed. Dressed in bright blue robes, he made no effort to hide the scars on his arms as he gestured explosively. James saw Albus and Lily disappear out into the backyard from the corner of his eye, but Rolf Scamander had made him pause. He wanted, so deeply, to catch the Magizoologist alone so he could ask him about the Ironbelly, if it indeed was an Ironbelly that had appeared in the sky that evening. If anyone would know, James concluded vehemently in his mind, it would be Scamander.

As he left the room, he prayed that the man would stay for a few hours at the very least. Out in the courtyard, a large group of people he recognized sat on chairs, each of them holding glasses of wine and champagne. Almost immediately, he felt his spirits rise, for the courtyard looked majestic, and the people filling it made him partially forget the puzzling things on his mind. The Quidditch hoops had been decorated with glowing lights that curled around the shafts. Small tables had been set up all over the grass, and while the rest of Godric's Hollow seemed white with snow, the flakes did not fall on the green lawn, as if the air around it had been enchanted. The large group of adults in the vicinity was majorly made up of Ministry friends and Hogwarts Professors. Occupying an extremely wide wooden bench was Rubeus Hagrid, holding a massive mug of what James was _sure_ was Firewhiskey, for it steamed into the air. The Herbology Professor, Neville Longbottom swayed with Hagrid as they hummed a tune for the crowd. Turning his head, James spotted Francis and Alice with Fred and Roxanne Weasley. Two little red-haired boys threw a ball to each other, and even from the edge of the courtyard, James could see Alice smile in joy at how adorably blissful Hugo and Louis could be when they weren't breaking things.

James caught his mother's eye as he made his way across the grass. She stood with a group of women he recognized instantly; there seemed to be nobody new at this party apart from Rolf Scamander, who had stayed away from all the other lunches and dinners. Ginny Potter nodded at James with approval as she noted his attire. Feeling rather relieved he hadn't dressed in his normal worn out jeans and comfortable tee shirt, he sat down on the grass beside Hugo and Louis. Louis, lost in his own world as his eyes followed the floating lights around the courtyard, resembled his mother so strongly James wondered how he was a Weasley at all. Apart from the flaming red hair, the boy's charming features had already appeared in the latest copy of _Witch Weekly._ He could barely hold a wand, James thought ruefully, and he had more fans than the entire Gryffindor Quidditch Team.

Francis and Alice gasped and exclaimed in silence as James filled them in. He began with the story about the Forbidden Forest, describing as many details as he remembered. When he relayed what he had learned from Rolf Scamander's book, the two weren't especially surprised, to his dismay.

"Well, flying a dragon out of Gringotts is incredibly cool…" Francis began, staring out into the night sky as if he imagined gigantic wings flapping away.

"But James, our parents _fought_ the war. Why is this so hard to digest?" asked Alice gently.

James sighed, sinking back into the grass.

"Because they got to do _amazing_ things. And we're stuck here trying to find out about a dragon that might not exist," he muttered.

"And a small army in the Forbidden Forest that _clearly,_ nobody knows about," reminded Francis.

"But don't you think something like this-" began Alice, before looking around for eavesdroppers.

"If you're going to suggest going to McGonagall, that's not a good idea," said James darkly.

"You're right…" Francis said, surprising James; of all his friends, Francis was usually the one who furtively inserted his conscience into most things. "You won't tell McGonagall unless you want to be expelled."

The thought of being expelled from Hogwarts with a year to go frightened James more than anything; his mother's wrathful face swam before him. He shook his head rapidly to rid himself of the vision.

"We're not telling McGonagall."

While the smell of roast pork filled their nostrils, James and Francis resigned themselves to watching the adults drink more than they probably wanted to. James wondered if Firewhiskey actually _did_ make you clumsier, and not active and about like he imagined. At some point, he and Lucio had thought of sneaking some of the steaming whiskey into their dormitories. Perhaps they would take a sip before a match; would it make them catch the Snitch faster than before? To James, he pictured Firewhiskey as the ultimate potion, something that would make him, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, immortal. Of course, he could mention none of this to Francis, who, being a prefect, forbade them from even sneaking food out of the kitchens. The well-dressed band that his mother had hired took up their spots in the garden and began with a pleasant tune. Somehow, the combination of the lights and the music had James and Francis swaying pleasantly.

The clear glass of the window resembled a thin sheet of ice, and through it gazed Draco and Astoria Malfoy. Her arms were around her husband's waist as she gazed at the falling snowflakes. He raised his glass of eggnog to his lips, taking a deep sip as the snowfall covered the garden. Behind them, the dinner table was laden with food. The smells coming from the well-marinated beef rose into the air, but only a few pieces had been cut from the dish. The rest of the table seemed untouched, as if only Draco had chanced a taste. Astoria had resigned herself to a warm mug of coffee, preferring to not eat if her family did not.

Malfoy Manor was perfectly still on Christmas Eve; even Scorpius, lazy and depressed at the thought of being away from his new friends, lay motionless in his bed. He had dressed for Christmas, like his mother told him to, but he did not feel inclined to leave the room.

Draco had just completed telling Astoria the entire day's happenings, as riveting as they were. She closed her eyes, with her head on his right shoulder, as if she imagined everything he told her. His interaction with Harry Potter had left him trembling and nervous, but Astoria's warm head and sleek hair made the shaking cease. She nodded as he told her what he did, as if she approved. Her approval made him feel stronger, and by the end of his story, she blinked tears from her eyes.

"Once again, Draco, you show that you are indeed the man I married," she said, kissing him softly on his cheek.

"As long as I am a man different from the schoolboy I once was, I will take that with pride, my love," he whispered back to her. Astoria kissed him once again, but she seemed more pensive than usual.

"There are mysteries that both of us do not know and understand, and you have found yourself right in their center."

He nodded.

"But I hope to be on the right side this time."

"Hush," Astoria said, stroking his blond hair. "Your side _will_ be the right side."

"But you are right," he said. "These are mysteries I know nothing of."

She chuckled under her breath, her eyes darting towards the staircase at the corner of the large living room. These particular stairs led deep downstairs, into a room treasured by his father, Lucius Malfoy.

"I never thought I'd find things more mysterious than the objects in our basement," she admitted. It was Draco's turn to chuckle. His wife had, filled to the brim with curiosity about his dark past, explored their basement only to find that she did not understand a single item she chanced upon. For Lucius Malfoy had harbored not simply the most dangerous items but also the strangest, the most unexplained, and honestly, the weirdest. There were swords, shields, cloaks, stuffed heads of odd creatures, masks, even old wands that Draco didn't dare touch. All of a sudden, Draco tensed under his wife's embrace.

"What is it?" she murmured, her lips pressed against his neck.

He gently and quickly extricated himself from her grasp, and sprinted towards the staircase, using his hands to swivel onto the steps. As quickly, Astoria followed her husband, who had never done such a thing before. He leapt the last few steps onto the hardwood floor and began rummaging immediately in a large burlap sack that, he remembered vaguely, he had been instructed not to touch as a child. He had, of course, gone through it anyway. He tossed items out as he saw them, and Astoria simply stood with her hands on her mouth as expensive glass shattered around her husband.

"Draco!" she said.

He ignored her, his hands elbow-deep in the sack now, his fingers stretching.

"DRACO!" she yelled. At once, Draco's hands came to a stop. He glanced back at her and saw that worry lines etched her beautiful face, lines that he had vowed would never appear as long as he lived. As he looked at her, his fingers came across a sleek surface, sloping and curved in regular patterns. He pulled it out, turning to his wife, who was still breathing heavily. By this time, Scorpius had emerged at the top of the staircase.

The mask in Draco's grasp was grotesque, shaped like a goblin-skull, and painted with crude reds and blues. A symbol at the back of the mask, a rune-like alphabet that spelled 'G.B." glowed in the dim light of the basement. He held up the mask, panting.

"Is that…?" Astoria began, understanding, putting his story together. He nodded.

"Mother, Father?" Scorpius' tense voice called out. "Is everything alright?"

Draco straightened up, putting the mask deep within his cloak. He patted his bodice down, and grasped Astoria's trembling but warm hand. His mind rushed at speeds he could not control. Arm in arm, he took his wife up the stairs to face a frightened Scorpius, still dressed in his dinner clothes.

"Yes, everything is fine, son," smiled Draco, pressing his wife's hand. She nodded reassuringly at her son, who seemed to calm down.

"We have been invited to the Potters for Christmas, if both of you wouldn't mind-" Draco began, but he stopped as he noted the glee enveloping his son's face. Scorpius was already nodding. Astoria, meanwhile, seemed to tense up even more.

"I would love to!" Scorpius said, the glow in his eyes unmistakable. Without a doubt, Scorpius had befriended one of the Potters, and Draco did not know how to register that piece of information at the moment.

Though Astoria's tight grip of his right hand made it clear she was uneasy, Draco hoped she would forgive him this one time. The trio stepped out into the snowy garden, turning to look on Malfoy Manor just as they side-along disapparated from sight. The weighty package of cake Astoria had hastily packed hung from Draco's side.

When the three emerged into the glowing kaleidoscope of gleaming lights that was Godric's Hollow, it didn't take long for Draco to identify Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley's house. The tall home reminded him too strongly of the Weasley home he had insulted all through his school- life. Clutching his wife's hand and his son's, Draco, heart beating rapidly, stepped onto the threshold of the Potters. The doorbell seemed to have no effect on the loud music, and so Draco grasped the bronze handle and stepped right into Harry Potter's home.

In retrospect, Draco realized, he should have waited. Arranged in a sort of circle, he found the people he had gone to Hogwarts with. He saw no sign of Potter, but he did see George Weasley, Angelina Johnson, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Seamus Finnigan, and a young man he knew to be Teddy Tonks. There were several more faces, but Draco was far too shocked to look at them. The group simply stared up at him like he was something unpleasant they had found by the side of the road. Ginny Weasley, leaning on the wall in the corner, gazed at Draco in confusion.

"Draco!" said Harry, sticking his head out from the kitchen. His shock must have been as evident as the rest of the group's, but he recovered as quickly as he could.

"Didn't think you'd come," he said, shaking Draco Malfoy's hand. When the blond man grasped his, Harry could feel an unmistakably large amount of pressure, along with a strange stare that told him that Draco had come for a reason.

"This must be Astoria, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said then, shaking the hand of the beautiful witch by Draco's side.

"And you must be Sco-"

"SCORPIUS!"

A deafening yell of triumph reverberated through the house as Albus, James, and Rose sprinted in, surrounding Draco Malfoy's son, who grinned back at them.

"You didn't tell us you were coming!" Albus exclaimed, his eyes gleaming.

"I didn't know," admitted Scorpius rather sheepishly.

"Well, now you're here, we can show you a bit of Potter-Weasley hospitality," said Harry's oldest son, James, ruffling the blond boy's hair.

In a blur, the children tugged Scorpius out of the room. The thick and wordless tension that filled the living room seemed to dissipate as the children left, and Draco and Astoria looked less haggard and exhausted as they had seemed before.

"Well, they weren't too pleased to see you after months, were they?" said George, breaking the silence with a chuckle. Harry narrowed his eyes. George was absolutely right; his children had completely ignored his presence with the appearance of young Scorpius Malfoy. Just before he led the Malfoys out of the room, Harry heard his wife snort with laughter. Draco and his wife walked stiffly down the corridor, their eyes flitting left and right as they passed Ginny's decorations. A few curious eyes followed the unlikely trio, but to Harry's relief, none of them followed him.

The door to Lily's room was ajar, and so Harry pushed through it and into the vividly blue room. Away from unfriendly eyes, Draco and Astoria seemed at ease all of a sudden. The pair seated themselves on Lily's soft bed, while Harry pulled out his wand.

" _Accio Butterbeers."_

Three bottles soared into the room, caught deftly by Harry and Draco. Soon after his third year at Hogwarts, Harry had realized that the best conversation starter, the perfect ice-breaker, was Butterbeer. Its warmth relaxed him, and he expected the effects to apply to other people as well. Draco ignored the bottle entirely, placing it on the side table, while Astoria took a deep gulp, steadying herself. Her husband then reached into his pocket, giving Harry a rather serious expression. Astoria's hand was quick to grasp her husband's arm.

"Draco," she murmured. The two looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds, and something passed between them that Harry did not catch. Though she still seemed uncomfortable about it, Draco pulled out what was nestled in his pocket. It was a gruesome and intricately painted mask. He handed it to Harry, who took it in confusion. Malfoy took a deep breath before saying the next few words.

"The man who started today's fire was wearing something like this."

Harry started, almost slopping Butterbeer down his front.

"The man who tried to kill you?"

Draco nodded.

"Where did you find this?" asked Harry softly, his fingers outlining the contours of the mask. When he looked at it now, he realized it looked much like the face of a goblin. His mind began racing. Astoria seemed to stiffen.

"My basement."

Harry and Draco locked eyes, and a host of dark thoughts occurred to the former. He was suddenly reminded of the wand in his pocket. On the other hand, Draco Malfoy's eyes were puzzled- he frowned as if he were as surprised as Harry was. The mask leered at them from his hand, the red paint gleaming like streams of dried blood. All of Harry's desire to draw his weapon leaked from him as he registered just how badly Astoria Malfoy's body was shaking. All at once, he understood that this was a situation very similar to Draco's Knockturn Alley battle, except the enemy lurked in his past this time.

With a huff, Harry collapsed on Lily's chair, wondering how he had gotten himself in such a mess. He gazed at the mask, hoping that somehow, something in its eerie glance would strike him. But he had never seen such a thing in his life. The object reminded him strongly of the stuffed House-elf heads in Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and so he supposed that it had been passed down to Lucius Malfoy, and by Lucius to his son. He recalled, years ago, that he and Ron, disguised as Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle (through the use of a nasty-tasting Polyjuice Potion) found out that there was a hidden level in the basement of Malfoy Manor. He had never realized, back then, that it would turn up in his future- not like _this._

"What else do you think your father has hidden in the basement?" he asked, looking directly at Draco.

"There are numerous things stored in Malfoy Manor, Potter, even I know of only half of them. As for this…" Draco gestured to the mask. "As a child, I was told not to go near where it was kept. I checked anyway. Turn it around."

Harry did as he was told, and gasped as he read the initials ' _G.B.'_ etched into it. Ugnak the Sturdy's crudely written runes floated into his mind. He prepared himself to launch into a long list of questions that began building up in his mind, but before he could do so, the door opened swiftly. All three of them jumped, Harry almost dropping the goblinesque mask.

Peering at them from the open doorway, Ginny stood, smiling her radiant smile, though Harry could almost see fire flickering in her eyes. He withdrew from the door, slightly afraid, and deposited the mask in his pocket, knowing full well that she had seen it. The Malfoys must not have noticed the rage in his wife, but Harry knew it too well. He supposed, with a sigh, that he shouldn't have dived thoughtlessly into this conversation.

"Ginny-" he began, about to explain that he would not take longer than a few minutes, but she cut him off with a look of such loath that it reminded him of when Hermione had first turned away from giving him her Potions notes.

"It's Christmas," she merely said, flashing him another dirty look as she led a rather alarmed Astoria out of the room.

"If you men want to have your secret strategic conversations, have them in a different household."

Ginny left Draco and Harry standing rather awkwardly in Lily's room, and from what Harry could see, his old nemesis was fighting the urge to laugh. Harry sighed.

"Well, I don't suspect you want to get caught by your wife again, Potter," said Draco, who, Harry could see, had a familiar smirk plastered over his lips. "I suggest we…socialize and leave the interesting things for later?"

"Give it a bit and Ginny'll convert your wife too, and then you better watch out," said Harry darkly, exiting the room with Malfoy. He wondered if it was a pattern his life was taking- he seemed to always be surrounded by women who displayed rather frightening violent tendencies. Between Molly Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny, Harry could see why Ron gave up being an Auror.

By dinnertime, the Quidditch pitch had become crowded. The little tables had multiplied, so the furthest diners could, fortunately or unfortunately, interact with Harry's gargoyles. With more people to insult and mock, the gargoyles were on their worst possible behavior, but Harry could see Neville, George, and Ron roar with laughter as they watched guests attempt to engage the stone creatures in conversation. Teddy and Victoire had found seats next to the children, and all attention was on the former. Resembling Nymphadora Tonks so strongly it made Harry grin, Teddy was morphing his face to mimic his Hogwarts' professors one by one. The children, even Hugo and Louis who had not been to Hogwarts, where chortling with amusement.

To Harry's surprise, he saw Astoria and Ginny together for most of the night. It seemed less surprising when he noticed a trio of individuals that reminded him far too much of he, Ron, and Hermione in their school years. From time to time, he would catch Ron's protective eye glancing over as well- for engrossed in their laughter, Scorpius Malfoy, Rose Weasley, and Albus Potter did not notice how they seemed to go _everywhere_ together. Chuckling under his breath, Harry wondered how things wouldn't seem at all out of the ordinary if this were _all_ a dream. Glancing up at the twinkling stars, he could see that a great deal had occurred in his children's lives. Closing his eyes, he truly wished he could have gone back to those days, when, even with Voldemort's menacing snake-head hissing at him from all directions, he could simply go up to his dormitory and sleep under his Gryffindor covers. Now, time had passed, and he had rebuilt the home of his parents, and his children were living the lives he had wanted to live. Smiling, Harry found himself leaning against the gate and watching his friends and family, something he had enjoyed doing as a fifteen year old at an _Order of the Phoenix_ dinner.

His fears about Draco and Astoria's presence at this gathering were waylaid quickly- mostly because George Weasley, calling loudly for 'payback', challenged Draco to a Firewhiskey-downing contest. Harry was sure he was referring to an old Quidditch match of theirs, one which involved him sinking a fist into Draco's stomach. By the end of the contest, both men's wives had taken up fearsome expressions, and Harry didn't think either would live to tell the tale of this night. Angelina in particular looked as though she would shoot off sparks from her very eyes.

He found James loitering with Francis Longbottom in the periphery, observing the proceedings with some caution. It struck Harry quickly that James was shooting looks at Rolf Scamander, who was still being introduced to many of the attendees by Luna. Even more suspicious, James held a book in his grasp- and Harry had never seen a book within a mile's reach of his oldest son. He hoped James hadn't planned anything stupid, but he made a mental note to ask him about this newfound fascination in Scamander.

Soon, Ginny began floating the dishes in through the open window. Great legs of lamb trickling in sauce, sliced mushrooms marinated in spices, flagon after flagon of pumpkin juice, and much more soon took over the focus of the party. Looking most impressed with herself, Ginny stood beside her mother as she watched the guests serve themselves. Once every plate was filled, Hagrid rose like a small mountain, drawing all eyes to his large figure.

"To old friends and new," he said, waving his flagon of Firewhiskey high above his head. The crowd responded with similar enthusiasm, roaring their approval.

"To the Potters!" finished Hagrid, taking an immense swig. The guests followed suit, and Harry watched with some amusement as Draco Malfoy took a sip from his goblet- of all things, he did not think he would ever catch the son of Lucius Malfoy drinking to his family's health.


	10. Chapter 9: Of Dragons and Bowtruckles

**Chapter 9: Of Dragons and Bowtruckles**

The melodies of Christmas carols had long since faded into the night, but Muggle music played out of a gramophone positioned in the corner of the Potters' carefully laid out garden. The percussion was in a constant rhythm, so much so that Hermione found herself tapping her feet to it.

From the instance she walked into Harry and Ginny's home, she had felt immense relief. Seeing the old members of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army once again made her remember things that she hadn't thought of in ages. She assumed Ron noticed her thoughtfulness, for he spoke far less than he usually did. When the pair walked the boundaries of the miniature Quidditch pitch, Ron preferred to quiz the gargoyles on arbitrary topics. Their responses came in riddles, and Hermione began to wonder if _all_ gargoyles were this witty.

Her children knew the Potters' home better than she did, so it was no surprise that Rose and Hugo disappeared quickly. Her daughter, after ransacking the library, now gripped a thick book whose title Hermione could not identify. The last she saw of her, Rose Weasley was zipping up the stairs. Hugo, overjoyed at seeing Louis, had vanished, and being so small, was only spotted hours later under the canopy with Roxanne Weasley. Hermione spent a large amount of time observing her son with George and Angelina's daughter. Somehow, none of his family had interested Hugo as much as Roxanne. Inheriting George's twinkling eyes and grin, along with Angelina's rather superior facial structure, Roxanne's dusky skin and bright brown eyes had become Hugo's permanent favorite. When she last saw the pair, the older girl was tying up Hugo's hair with a hairband, drawing applause from the rest of the children, who roared with delight to see his long red hair in a ponytail.

Glasses of champagne later, the garden had become host to mirthful celebration. Hermione found herself laughing more than she had all year, for in her joy, she momentarily forgot the dangers she was fighting. Until Draco Malfoy appeared, her worries had been absent, hidden by a happy Christmas. She had spotted the Malfoys from the garden, standing motionless at the doorway. The sudden bout of silence revealed the tall figure of Draco Malfoy, panting in his grey suit and long black coat. As she watched, Harry appeared all of a sudden, almost dragging the Malfoys into his home. They disappeared into the first room at the foot of the staircase- little Lily's blue room. Unable to tear her eyes from the corridor, Hermione had to force herself to remain seated. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, she saw a furious looking Ginny force her way in, only to reappear a moment later with a beautiful witch by her side. Soon, Draco and Harry stepped out, both looking very sheepish. From her comfortable position, she could not hear their murmurs, but she spotted a chuckle on Draco Malfoy's lips as he walked down the corridor.

It took her several moments to register. In those quick seconds, she could not glean information from Draco's expressions, but something occurred to her. In that moment, Draco and Harry had looked like companions, almost _friends._ She frowned, confused at how something so odd and out of place had happened. It had nothingto do with the happy event of Christmas, of that much, she was sure. When the two men stepped into the garden, the crowd did well to contain their astonishment at Draco Malfoy's presence. In what seemed like a scene out of a movie, Draco and George began what seemed to be the death of them. Seated across each other with a small side-table separating them, the redhead and the blonde began forcing glasses of Firewhiskey down their throats. Hermione couldn't help herself; she had never seen either of the men in this state. Her laughter was loud and uncontrolled, and she found Ron joining her as soon as Astoria Malfoy positioned herself, glowering, behind her husband. The beautiful woman, with astonishingly blue eyes, seemed meek and delicate to Hermione, but her frightening expression began to remind her strongly of her mother in law. Angelina, with a firm hand on her husband's shoulder, did not seem any less intimidating. It was a sight Hermione would not forget- a bonding of two families so apart from each other they could be sworn enemies. At one point, they _had_ been sworn enemies. It seemed like a parallel world altogether, pondered Hermione, for somehow, in a single night, she had observed the Potter, Weasley, and Malfoy family connect in ways that she thought impossible; even Scorpius Malfoy seemed incredibly comfortable with his new friends.

She couldn't help noticing how occupied with his own thoughts Harry Potter was- for every time she looked at him, he seemed lost. Before the Draco-George Firewhiskey duel, Harry's green eyes had seemed puzzled, pensive, even unfocused. Now, there was a hardened steel quality to the green eyes that Hermione knew very well- as if he had made a decision, or accepted something that she knew nothing of. If Ron had been watching, she was sure he'd be fretting, for the last time Harry Potter had looked so committed, he had just realized something Albus Dumbledore had kept from him for years- that _he_ was a Horcrux. His firm resolve led him that night to walk into the Forbidden Forest, to his death. Shaken, Hermione tried to piece it together, but she held none of the pieces. She had no part to play, perhaps, because she knew she would not be able to convince him out of whatever he had decided to do.

With single-minded determination, James followed the couple walking out of the gate. Her hair glistening, Luna Lovegood Scamander seemed to skipping with each step. Her left arm was wrapped casually around her husband's waist, and they seemed to be enjoying some quiet conversation. James did not care.

"Mr. Scamander!" he exclaimed, when he assumed they were about to disapparate. The couple whipped around in surprise. Rolf Scamander gave James a rather sudden grin, and for the first time, James could see the wildness in his happy face, a wildness that he rather liked. Luna, smiling her pleasant smile, simply watched.

"I wondered when you'd come say hello, young man," teased Scamander, his eyes immediately catching the book in James' arms. James laughed rather awkwardly; he had perhaps been a little too obvious about his silent stalking.

"I wanted to ask you a few things-" began James.

"And you were trying to find a moment when Harry was too distracted to notice," guessed the Magizoologist. Caught off guard, James could only nod. Rolf looked at Luna, as if for approval, and once she nodded with a smile, he turned back to James with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, then, is there someplace we can talk in private?"

James led the couple to his favorite spot- the same clearing in which his uncle Ron had found him poring over the Marauder's Map. Luna exclaimed with wonder as James parted the leafy fronds that hid the place from view. Inside, piled in one corner, was a heap of Butterbeer bottles, a few broken quills, and a smashed bottle of ink. Before he could apologize for the mess, Luna and Rolf had found themselves seats on the ground, leaning back on the rock walls of the makeshift cave. There was no light once the curtain of greenery had been put back into place, but Luna leaned forward and grasped an empty bottle, pointing her wand at it. Instantly, the walls and the leaves were given a blue sheen, for the flickering blue flames inside the Butterbeer bottle illuminated them almost enchantingly.

Before he had made the decision to follow Scamander as he departed _,_ James had been thinking very carefully about how to approach this very situation. He had picked out the perfect words to say in order to seem curious but not too curious. He had not planned to reveal any of his wrongdoings to a single adult, knowing how easily information reached his father and mother. All this and more he had thought of, with the fleeting image of an angry mother hanging over him. But now, as he, Luna, and Rolf sat bathed in the light of blue flames, he felt a pleasantly surprising feeling- comfort. He did not feel like a sixteen year old speaking to two adults; instead, he felt like he sat with his school friends. In his own mind, he began to wrestle with the consequences of asking Scamander and Luna more than he should. These consequences were steadily outweighed by his incredible need for answers, and the horrible feeling of having so much sealed inside him without anybody to tell. More than anything, the excited gleam on the couple's faces made it seem like he had known them for years. Maybe, James thought, it was because Rolf Scamander reminded him so strongly of his father, albeit without the burden of his Ministry job. He reminded himself, once again, not to tell the couple too much, but before he could begin, Scamander leaned forward.

"James, by any chance, do you have the Marauder's Map on your person?"

James started, taken aback. He nodded mutely; he never went anywhere without the map, even if he was at home and not at school. He pulled it gently out of his pocket, handing it to Scamander. Luna immediately tapped the surface of the parchment with her wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she murmured softly. James raised an eyebrow, suddenly feeling like _all_ his secrets were out in the open. Luna, noticing, smirked.

"The number of times I've seen Harry do this…I'd never forget," she explained.

As soon as she said the words, ink began spreading across the browning parchment, much to Rolf Scamander's delight. He ran his hand over the names of the founding fathers of the map- _Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs-_ marveling at the beauty of it. He began to scan the map.

"Though I have never seen the grand castle," he muttered, "this is an astounding work of magic. Simply astounding."

Shaking his head, Scamander watched as the few students remaining in Hogwarts for Christmas walked their dormitories. The castle was almost empty- though from where he sat, James could make out a lonely pair of feet loitering near the Ravenclaw Common Room. It read 'Eileen Dursley'; James had never heard of such a student before, though it seemed oddly familiar. Then again, after six years in the school, there were, in all probability, hundreds of names he did not recall.

"This is quite frankly the most creative use of magic I have ever seen," Scamander went on, enraptured by the contents of the Marauder's Map. He frowned, his eyes narrowing as he examined something that caught his fancy.

"Hmm," he hummed. "Doesn't show magical creatures."

James nodded, marveling at how quickly Scamander had realized. It had taken _him_ years, and he had gone everywhere with it.

"There's another thing…" he said, holding up the map with his hands. Luna gazed curiously at it, before uncharacteristically frowning. In the blue light, James realized he had never seen Luna Lovegood frown. Her slim fingers traced parts of the map. James raised his eyebrows- nothing seemed to slip past the pair of Magizoologists he sat with. Indeed, the parts Luna touched were the very parts James and Lucio had been most concerned with- they were new additions to the Marauder's Map they had painstakingly worked on.

"Some parts are older than the others," she said, turning to James with an impressed expression. "Your work?"

Grinning, James nodded.

"Has Harry seen this?"

He shook his head. He hadn't revealed to his father the depths of his obsession with the map; he didn't think he would approve of him and Lucio wandering Hogwarts. Funnily, James caught Luna looking at him with a great deal of affection. Her eyes gathered moisture, and her face seemed so gentle and loving it became clear all at once to him how she had earned her place as his father's trusted friend.

"If I were your father," she whispered, nudging James with her elbow gently. "I'd be proud of you for continuing your grandfather's work."

The compliment took James by surprise, a feeling he was becoming familiar with in the presence of the Scamanders. He nodded gratefully, feeling like a new bond had formed- as if he had made two new friends.

"What was it you wanted to know?" asked Rolf, handing the map back to James, who tapped it with his wand, muttering "Mischief managed", before depositing it into his pocket.

Without hesitation, James described to Rolf and Luna what he and Lucio had seen in the sky above the Hogwarts grounds. He left no detail out, elaborating on everything he saw, from the curve of the gigantic wings to the halting fear he had experienced. With every word, the couple seemed to grow more serious, though the excitement in Rolf Scamander's eyes was unmistakable. He went on to explain how he and Lucio had tried, in vain, to find the creature on the Marauder's Map. Rolf snorted, shaking his head.

"If it indeed was a dragon you saw, James, it would have disappeared as quickly as it was spotted, though I doubt very much it saw you," he said flatly.

"They must have been _very_ high up," Luna said, scanning James as if he were the map itself. He nodded in agreement; the Snitch _had_ gone to an impressive altitude, even though in their hurry to catch it, the pair of boys had not realized _how_ impressive.

"Why do you say that?" he asked. Luna did not answer. Instead, she looked grimly at her husband, who nodded slowly. As if in slow motion, Rolf Scamander sighed heavily. His eyes betrayed the tension filling his mind, as if he were about to say something tremendously important. James almost held his breath. The couple communicated silently with their eyes, as if they suddenly understood something rather frightening.

"James," Rolf began. "All dragons are classified highly dangerous creatures. Difficult to tame, difficult to capture, even more difficult to _spot._ It took me _years_ to find the rarest breeds, and even I stayed well away from them. As for the breed-"

"The _Ukranian Ironbelly,"_ blurted James, though he knew, in all probability, Scamander might just rubbish the idea. Instead, the man paused in mid-sentence. James opened up _Claws and Fangs,_ locating the page he had been so interested in. The haunting silhouette of the _Ironbelly_ dominated much of the page, and as he held it out to the Scamanders, he explained how it had seemed extremely familiar to him. In the presence of the Magizoologists, he was more convinced than before.

"I've never seen a dragon in person, but I _have_ seen pictures, and they're not as big as the one I saw," he insisted. In contrast to what James expected, both the Scamanders' faces seemed covered in shadow, and Luna's normally calm expression had turned into a frown. Nervous tension was etched across her face, while her husband seemed to be wrestling with what to say. Rolf Scamander was, James felt, deciding what _not_ to say.

"James," began Scamander, speaking slowly, as if each word weighed heavily on his conscience. "If that creature had been flying any lower, it would have heard the crowd. To a dragon, human beings are nothing but meat, and hearing a fevered, emotional mass of children cheering Quidditch players on- it would have resulted in nothing but death for the entire school."

"If it indeed was an _Ironbelly,"_ completed Luna with a pronounced whisper.

"I don't under-"

"Understand then that had that dragon responded to your curse, both you and your friend would have been burnt to a crisp," stated Rolf bluntly.

"How was it flying around like that, the Department of-" argued James, feeling suddenly frightened by the flickering blue flames covering the space the three of them occupied.

"The Department of Magical Creatures has other problems, I believe."

Scamander sat back, leaning against the rock wall. He began fiddling with his fingers, before he leaned forward seriously.

"You must first know that all creatures in the wizarding world are filled with magic- and this magic ties them together, and ties wizards to them as well. This is why wizards have an attachment to magical creatures- owls, phoenixes, toads make up a small portion of the list. Salazar Slytherin's greatest weapon was said to be his Basilisk, and it lived for centuries before it was killed."

"The Basilisk-" started James, eyes widening.

"That Harry killed in his second year at Hogwarts, yes," said Luna, nodding solemnly.

"What I am trying to say is that some creatures are far more magical than you and I can ever be, and that is perhaps why they live for so long, becoming legends. Many of the rarest and oldest hid themselves a long time ago, avoiding wizard interference, separating themselves from the changing world. Dragons and Basilisks are such creatures, among others. And because they live for centuries, they only show themselves to humans when they are called on- for instance, Slytherin's Basilisk – or when-" Scamander broke off, leaving the unfinished sentence hanging in the air.

"When?" urged James, sitting forward.

"When the magic world is in turmoil," finished Luna, her murmur so soft it almost escaped James Potter's ears. Her husband's neck turned so quickly, there was a pronounced _crack._ He seemed to be disapproving of his wife's lack of hesitation.

"He's a year away from being an adult, Rolf. I fought the Death Eaters in the Ministry at fifteen," she added gently, her arm on her husband's shoulder.

Rolf Scamander breathed a gigantic sigh, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the sweat off his forehead. James was extremely aware of how loud his heartbeat seemed in the confined space, and how rapid his lungs inflated and deflated. He remembered the information he was keeping from the couple- particularly, the intruders within the Forbidden Forest- and felt like 'turmoil' was indeed a serious word to use. As if reading his thoughts, Rolf chuckled, though there was no humor in it.

"We're not saying the apocalypse is here, James, don't fret so much," he said, though his wife remained quiet.

"Luna and I are Magizoologists, as you know," he explained. "And on our journeys, we noticed a few things, things that caught our notice-"

"Like dragons roaming the countryside unchecked?"

"Worse."

"What could be worse?!"

"The work of a Magizoologist is far from easy. We have to hunt for the smallest trails, the subtlest changes in the environment, just to find a single species of plant or animal. Over the past six months, Luna and I have had no trouble whatsoever in locating rare creatures."

James, confused, exhaled slowly.

"Something in the magic world has caught their attention. Something…something is making these creatures, be it dragons or Bowtruckles, more aggressive, and less fearful of wizards."

Looking down, James saw Scamander once again fiddling with his hands. The sleeves of his robes loosened, and he was all too aware of the scars lining his muscular arms. Before Scamander could pull his arm out of view, James had seen the numerous jagged lines, some still fresh, that covered most of his limbs.

"Not fearful at all," James said quietly.


	11. Chapter 10: Acid Pops

**Chapter 10: Acid Pops**

Harry was wrestling with thoughts already muddled by the champagne. As he breathed in the cool air of Godric's Hollow, standing beside his gargoyles, he wondered if acting on his instincts was a smart idea. He was determined to look at Christmas as a sign, an omen, a signal leading to the future. Conversations he had thought were forgotten rose to the surface of his thoughts, and Albus Dumbledore's enchanting dialogue made him smile wistfully. He mused, thinking of how many people Dumbledore had truly confided in. Apart from Severus Snape, had Dumbledore shared his plans and secrets with anybody else? It had always been evident that Minerva McGonagall held a trustworthy spot in the old Headmaster's heart, but Harry had always felt a respectable distance between the two. More than often, he had found that McGonagall was surprised at Dumbledore's antics, sometimes more surprised than _he_ was.

As if in sequel to their disastrous Career Counseling session in Harry's fifth year (a certain toad had been present), Harry had found himself back in McGonagall's office several years after the death of Lord Voldemort. He had just been given the deep honor of heading the entire Auror office, and far from celebrating, he had required a quick visit to his old school. Clad in his black and gold robes, dripping from the rain, he walked down the familiar corridors, ignoring gawks from students and teachers alike. There were many teachers he did not know and recognize, but he shook Horace Slughorn's hand as earnestly as he could muster. He failed to narrowly avoid a long conversation with Sir Nicolas de Mimsy Porpington, the Gryffindor ghost, and eventually had to run to arrive outside the gargoyle keeping guard outside the Headmistress' office. The creature stared at him with bored expressions on their stone faces, before lazily opening up. Feeling extremely smug that he could walk into the Head office whenever he liked, Harry stepped in, at once feeling like he had gone back in time.

Minerva McGonagall had changed nothing- from the paintings on the wall, to the Pensieve sitting on its desk, to the golden stand on which Fawkes the phoenix had spent most of his years, she had not moved, touched, or removed Albus Dumbledore's belongings. There were additional items here and there, and it made Harry feel warm to think that all the Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts would continually add on to the amusement park that Dumbledore had eccentrically created. Dumbledore's portrait itself slumbered peacefully, his serene face betraying no emotion. Beside his painting hung Severus Snape's, but the former Headmaster of Hogwarts had made a trip to one of his other portraits.

"Albus kept to himself more than the other teachers," he remembered McGonagall saying to him as he reclined across her desk in a comfortable chintz armchair. "Yes, we always knew he was up to something, but we never knew just _what."_

Harry had laughed, but a gnawing worry had come to his mind regardless. He confessed to McGonagall that he had just been promoted to the Head of the Auror Office, the words tumbling out of his mouth rather furtively. He had not expected it, but there were tears soon streaming down his old Transfiguration Professor's face, and he felt a bony hand close around his.

All of a sudden, he found himself unable to speak; the words were stuck in his throat. He remembered, with a rush of affection, McGonagall declaring to Dolores Umbridge that she would coach him to become an Auror if it was the last thing she would do. His grip tightened around his teacher's hand, suddenly very grateful to have her still in his life. It struck him as he sat across from her that of all the people in his life, very few had been with him from the very beginning. Professor Minerva McGonagall and Rubeus Hagrid had been by his side from the moment they left him on the doorstep of No. 4, Privet Drive, and it filled with him with life and happiness to think of it.

She was unlike anything Dumbledore was, but a few of his qualities were shared among them. Her resilience, from the stern pair of eyes behind the spectacles Harry looked through, had never changed. Age did not seem to affect her, and moreover, she had, from what Harry had heard, become far more active in her role as Headmistress than Dumbledore had ever been. Admittedly, Albus Dumbledore had _other_ problems to deal with through his time. His successor had become a symbol, a legend of Hogwarts that no teacher but he could beat. But to Harry, she had become much more, a pillar of support whose every word he heeded.

"What is it you came here to ask me, Potter? Not leadership advice?" asked Professor McGonagall, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Harry bowed his head, nodding, and it seemed to him that his old Transfiguration teacher appeared somewhat mollified.

"Albus Dumbledore's successor, Headmistress of Hogwarts-" began Harry, before she cut him off.

"Oh, rubbish, Potter, I always believed _you_ were Dumbledore's successor- that is how most of us see it."

Harry stopped, mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open momentarily. McGonagall raised her eyebrows at him through her spectacles, as if questioning his understanding of the most basic spell out of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration,_ by Emeric Switch. The thought had occurred to him, more than often, that a part of Dumbledore lived on in him. Their meeting at the glowing, mysteriously empty King's Cross station had turned something within Harry, tuned his body to a different rhythm. He had started believing in his actions more, and his ability to weigh sacrifices on either hand before making a decision had improved drastically. His instinctual, rage-fueled school-life had been a side of him that was the past- and ever since he woke up in the Forbidden Forest that day, he had known what it felt like to be Albus Dumbledore. The pain of his years and the years that his parents and friends had lived had burdened his shoulders, and in those moments, he had been the most vulnerable. He believed that Dumbledore, ever since the imprisonment of Gellert Grindelwald, must have lived like that for the rest of his life.

"You have made sacrifices to get where you are, Potter. From the very first day you stepped into this castle, to the last. I assumed you knew your own abilities. Albus Dumbledore, Rubeus Hagrid, and I did not leave you on Petunia Dursley's doorstep without faith in who you would grow up to be, Potter. You fought a losing battle, and triumphed in the end. I believe Albus triumphed with you, in those last moments."

Fresh moisture had returned to McGonagall's eyes, but her face remained stern and filled with conviction. Harry had never thought to think of how much Dumbledore's passing had affected her, and he had never imagined how it had pained the other teachers of the school either. McGonagall had been beside Dumbledore for uncountable years, and she had stood by the school he had loved even after he was buried.

"There will come a time when keeping your cards to yourself might seem wise," she said, peering at him and leaning forward. "You must remember to look at every situation from every perspective, because you _must._ It is your responsibility. The Order of the Phoenix did not rise from the ashes for a leader that doubts himself."

He could have sworn that with these words, Dumbledore's sleeping head lifted very slightly, as if he listened in his sleep. Snape had still not returned. His head feeling considerably heavier, Harry made his way through the gargoyle guardian. He walked through the grassy courtyard, and as promised, knocked on the door of Hagrid's hut. After what was always a bone-cracking hug, Hagrid made them both tea and served up his infamous rock-cakes, in whose eating, Harry managed to take his mind off things. McGonagall had done what she had always done, use words to savagely cut sense into her students.

Holding his empty glass to his chest, Harry made his way through the grass and into his home. The living room clamored with activity, as leftover dishes were levitated into the kitchen, controlled by Ginny's wand. The giant dining table was slowly floating into the house, Astoria appearing behind it. The children were nowhere to be seen, but Harry thought he heard the sound of footsteps above him. Ron and Hermione had arranged the small tables in a straight line by then. He watched Ron lazily return his wand to his pocket. As he stood there, Harry could picture his best friend in his Auror robes again, the black cloak trimmed with gold, right before a press conference. Long years had passed since Ron Weasley had changed from what he was- from a nervous Gryffindor Keeper to being quoted in _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ textbooks as 'Auror Expert Ronald Weasley', he had become everything he had wanted to be. In that instant, Harry realized the decisions he must take to ensure the safety of everyone around him. If anything, he needed to feel the fervor of reshaping the Auror Department with Ron again. It had made him feel invincible.

The Werewolves-Goblins argument in his head began to remind him of seventeen year old Harry Potter deciding between Hallows and Horcruxes. He had largely ignored what his friends had told him at that point; the Hallows had become seductive, almost calling to him. To be the master of death had seemed an objective reasonable enough after being chased by a murderous Dark Lord for his entire life. Fenrir Greyback's snarling voice filled his head so often after the hearing he could imitate its very tone, but the pages of Ugnak the Sturdy's journal lingered more. Kingsley and Hermione had no reason to believe they were under attack by an underground, secret organization, and the only evidence now remained with Draco Malfoy. Harry supposed, if Draco had not appeared at Godric's Hollow this night, his decision would still be unmade. After the initial fear, Harry had reassessed his priorities, having Teddy focus harder on tracing the whereabouts of Fenrir's army.

The thought of Wizarding and Muggle Britain being attacked and _converted_ was a fear Harry had not addressed until then. He couldn't imagine being required to raise his wand on people he knew only because their werewolf selves attacked humans on instinct. The only werewolf Harry could kill without seeing Remus Lupin's face flash before him was Fenrir Greyback, he had decided long ago. More than anything, he saw his children in his mind every time he remembered Greyback's words. He knew of the Death Eater and werewolf's special fetish for children- he had witnessed it in person moments before Albus Dumbledore died. Over the week, Hermione stopped mentioning Ugnak or the Gold Brotherhood, and Kingsley was nowhere to be seen. The entire government had been pulled in with efforts to prepare for an imminent werewolf attack. Word had not gotten out to the press just yet, thankfully, but it was a matter of time before Rita Skeeter got her hands on the right Ministry official to harangue. As it stood now, the public knew enough to keep them alert, if not panicking. The extensive Auror department was in the midst of a high-level training procedure, a procedure designed by Harry and Ron years ago, one that tested every aspect of an Auror- from his mental fortitude to his physical ability. The Hit Wizards were spread thinly across Britain; Teddy had taken care to station a larger number of his men in Muggle areas. He had been working himself to the bone; it was no surprise to Harry that he left the Potters' Christmas party far earlier than his friends and colleagues, much to the disappointment of a pouting Victoire Weasely.

Harry had been whispering to Ginny at night, for days together, about the rapid changes the Ministry was undergoing. One of those nights, he had come home after a relatively unsettling meeting with his Aurors and Kingsley. When Ron had been at his side, they had drafted and perfected several strategies and plans, plans to be used in the starkest of emergencies. When they wrote these plans, the pair had roughly imagined a new Voldemort stepping out into the open, trying to imagine the worst possible scenario. In truth, and partly influenced by the fact that Harry's scar no longer pained him, they believed that there would never arise a need for such high-level, high-risk plans. But all the lack of information and fear hanging over the Ministry demanded action, and Harry knew this. They had been forced to begin the restructuring and positioning process Harry and Ron's emergency plans had drawn out. The meeting had worn on for hours, and the Ministry board members and Kingsley now held expressions of the utmost exhaustion, for Harry had staunchly disagreed all this time. The Minister called for a break, and proposed that the meeting resume in exactly one hour, which would give each of them more than enough time to calm down and recollect their thoughts.

Harry and Hermione remained in the meeting room, with harry staring stubbornly out of the window. He had wished Ron had been there with him, to argue the necessity of using these strategies only in the last minute- only when no hope remained. There had been so many occasions, in the wars of the past, when Harry had felt like collapsing onto his knees with no hope, and he refused to be rendered so helpless ever again. Hermione stood next to him; she had been the only member of the meeting that kept her face still and calm as the ocean. Still, beneath the serenity, Harry could see that frustration crawled all over her. She seemed to be wrestling with indecision, as if she understood Harry's thoughts and agreed, but disagreed at the same time. Even though she was right beside him, Harry could not voice the fear in his mind- the fear that beginning a risky and combative exercise with a Ministry he did not trust was not a wise decision for any Head of the Auror Department. If the strategy was implemented, Aurors would cease their daily routines, and begin making their way to their new posts. The plan, most importantly, proposed a façade government taking the reins, while the real government moved elsewhere. It meant recreating the Ministry of Magic into a mobile structure. Departments had to be audited quickly, research and age-old knowledge had to be hidden and copied, and all information traveling into and out of the Ministry was barred.

It was this wall in communication that Harry feared the most; it was a direct move against their enemies- challenging them to attack the fortress that the Ministry seemed to be. He preferred to make aggressive moves after the enemy had been properly identified, but as it were now, they were being stabbed under the cloak of darkness, unable to find the source of their pain. The years that had gone by had been nothing but successful; Harry and Ron had filled Azkaban to the brim, and Hermione had put each and every prisoner on trial. Some convicts lived their lives under house arrest, some roaming the wizarding world on probation, but many remained in Azkaban. The prison itself had been both expanded and renovated. After the mass breakout and escape led by Bellatrix Lestrange, the prison had required a brand new structure and security measures. It was this prison that Harry and Ron had always talked about. There was a reason why they had Mad-Eye Moody's old Foe Glasses on their desks at all times- the more Dark Wizards they took down, the more enemies hulked over them like gigantic shadows, even when confined in the wizarding prison. Part of Ron's reason for joining George Weasley at _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_ had been to do with just that- for how long could you look over your shoulder for danger? Then the days grew peaceful, a lull before the storm. Now, Harry looked over his shoulder even more, and his battle-senses, honed to a sharp point after all these years, were alert and focused. His mistrust of the Ministry had grown severely by this time, and he was sure the enemy was in their presence. Hermione then gave Harry the unsettling feeling of having his thoughts read.

"By implementing this strategy, your jurisdiction expands, Harry. In an emergency situation, the Head of the Aurors is level with the Minister," she whispered, even though they stood so close to one another. He gazed at her; she scowled furiously as she looked out of the window, as if she were saying things she didn't want to say.

"What are you saying, Hermione?" demanded Harry, keeping his voice level with hers.

"I'm saying," she continued. "That the Board is not likely to ignore the imminent threat: werewolf attack. The Gold Brotherhood is still a piece of information we hold between us, Harry. Kingsley, you, and I know of its existence, if it _did_ exist at all."

"The Board will take it less lightly if you tell them-"

"You know as well as I do why it would _not_ be a good idea for me to do that, Harry," she said, giving him a searching look. Harry suddenly recoiled, flinching in surprise. There was steel in her expression that frightened him, laden with anger and frustration, and he was unpleasantly shocked by a side of her he was not so used to seeing. But just as he felt these things, her face relaxed, and he saw his old Hermione again. The exhaustion seeped from her skin as she looked at Harry with tired, bloodshot eyes. She gave him a faint smile.

"My position means there are some things I can say and some things I can't. I'm not doing this because I'm scared, Harry, I'm doing this because it's the only way. You know as well as I do that if someone _is_ controlling this whole situation from inside the Ministry, letting them see through me helps nobody. You remember Dirk Cresswell's warning."

Harry nodded.

"We're on the same page," he said, glancing at his watch. "We have thirty minutes to discuss this for the last time, Hermione, be quick about it."

She nodded, waving her wand behind her. The door shut with a dull thud. Harry had already silently cast several charms to ward visitors from the door and to dissuade listeners.

"I'm petrified of their next move- they've started off with small attacks, Harry, this is entirely different from the Death Eaters. They're still treading the water, seeing how deep they can step in before we notice. Have you read the reports on each of the attacks?"

Harry had read them all word to word. Hermione waved her wand, and three worn out maps appeared in front of them. The location of each attack glowed with crimson ink, in the shape of an ugly 'X', rather uncharacteristic of Hermione. Of the three maps, one was of the London Underground, with King's Cross station in the center. The second was of Westminster, London, highlighting a road called Whitehall. Harry knew the golden circle highlighted the location of the Headquarters of the Ministry of Magic. The third was of London, and Diagon Alley. In a golden circle was Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Even as a tiny symbol, it seemed ominous to Harry. He marveled at Hermione- he had been more concerned with the victims, not caring to check for a pattern in target areas. She gestured at the map of King's Cross.

"Harry- look. The attacks start at the edge of the map, and then they try to get closer and closer. In each."

And so it was. The attacks always began away from the three locations- King's Cross, the Ministry, and Gringotts. The next series of attacks penetrated closer areas. A station close to King's Cross. A coffee shop overlooking the phone booth that was the Ministry's visitor entrance. Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions Shop in Diagon Alley.

"They're targeting our transport. Then our government's headquarters. And…" Harry drifted off, confused, though he was beginning to understand.

"If all this is true, Harry. If _all,_ every word Ugnak the Sturdy wrote in his journal, all our suspicions, if they're all true-"

"Their most likely base of operations would be Gringotts. It only makes sense. They're strengthening their hold around their headquarters, while asserting power around ours."

Hermione nodded.

"Their next attack could be anything. We have to assume they know exactly who we are, Harry. We're already plastered over the _Prophet,_ so I have to believe the enemy has spies nearby, and most probably, people watching us at all times," she said with finality. Harry gripped the window sill so hard his knuckles turned white.

"What are we supposed to do, then? Wait for them to pick us out?" he asked, though he was already seeing the bigger picture. Hermione shook her head.

"Act as natural as possible, like we don't know a thing," said Harry slowly.

"If we assume the enemy exists and is moving," she said quietly. "We can assume this werewolf attack is a decoy. You've told me that Azkaban is still dangerous, Harry, that tells me that there's every possibility someone from the outside influenced Greyback in some way to reveal that information to us. If it was part of the plan-"

"It worked," said Harry ruefully, shaking his head. "We panicked. Everyone panicked. Our best wizards were off looking for an army while the real enemy made their move."

"And now we know their plan, but they can't know that. To them, Harry Potter must intensify efforts to locate the werewolves- because that's your job. I-"

"Listen to me, Hermione."

Harry turned around, almost glowering at her. She seemed taken aback for a moment, for Harry had a rather fearsome look on his face.

"You better play your part- act as oblivious to this as I am. You're the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement- there's not going to be a moment you're not being watched, Hermione. I'm not saying you don't know this," he added when he noted the frown appearing on her face.

"You need to understand what I mean, Hermione. Cresswell trusted only _you_ with that warning. If the enemy thinks they've duped you, they think they've infiltrated the Ministry of Magic. I know you can take care of yourself, but realize this- you are in the center of it all."

She looked at him, and he knew she felt the weight of his words.

"When Ron and I thought of an emergency, we _did_ think of Voldemort and only Voldemort. We foresaw people knocking down doors and murdering people. When Pettigrew broke the charm and betrayed my parents, the wizarding world was lucky what happened actually happened. You and I both know only Voldemort's actions led to his defeat, Hermione."

Hermione inclined her head, as if to say, "Yes, go on."

"We have to assume that an enemy can be smarter than Lord Voldemort, having seen him fall. Which means we need to be more than a step ahead. When he was in power before my parents died, he and his followers began recruiting wizards, and those that weren't recruited were-"

"Killed," she finished. Harry nodded.

"Killed. If we don't act soon, they'll start a war we aren't prepared for. Which is why Ron and I decided that family relocation is the first priority. All the Aurors know about this, and they'll have measures ready to up and leave at first notice. Some of them have Secret Keepers, and some don't. Most of all, some of them know they need to lie to the Ministry, Hermione."

Puzzled, she stared.

"Ron and I made sure that a separate plan exists for Aurors," he explained grimly. "In emergency situations, when the Ministry is threatened, we operate separately. The only people who know of this plan are the Aurors I trust, Ron, me, and now, you. No one can know- and yes, that includes Kingsley." Hermione agreed without hesitation.

Harry glanced at his watch. Hermione motioned for him to go on quickly.

"My point is that _you_ are probably the only person that cannot be seen going into hiding. Ron and I realized this early on. Kingsley and you are the faces of the Ministry. At this point, if Rita's not throwing your interviews all over the _Prophet,_ going on about everything you're doing to curb the werewolf crisis, the public will go into a panic, and the Brotherhood will know that you're prepared for them. When that happens, I don't think they'll mess around with fires in coffee shops, Hermione."

Hermione looked as though she had swallowed an abnormally large and energetic Chocolate Frog.

"Four of my Aurors are already assigned to you," said Harry, lowering his voice to a whisper again. "Two will remain in your general vicinity at all times, one will watch Hugo, and one will be placed in Hogsmeade once the holidays end, watching Rose. They must believe you and Ron are at home. And that puts you in a great deal of danger."

"Ron," murmured Hermione, realizing Harry had not mentioned any Aurors guarding Ron. In truth, Harry knew there was no point in an Auror guarding either Ron or Hermione. Neither required the assistance, but he believed that the most in-danger was undoubtedly Hermione.

"I may have different ideas for Ron," he said curtly.He had indeed been thinking of Ron abandoning the joke shop temporarily, or at least operating as Harry's second-in-command in disguise. But he hadn't broached the topic with Ron just as yet. Hermione seemed completely unfazed; she knew Harry too well- he would need Ron by his side.

"When the Board and Kingsley come back, I'm going to agree to the emergency plans," he said quickly. "The relocation will effectively establish a new Auror Headquarters-"

"Which the Ministry will know of-"

"Which will be one of two offices, and no one knows about the second one," completed Harry.

They turned quickly as they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Hermione straightened up, and removed the locking spell on the door. Meanwhile, Harry grabbed the nearest copy of _The Daily Prophet_ and began skimming through it as casually as he could. The footsteps grew louder.

"I won't see you for a while, Harry, once this starts. You and Ron will be going places I have no knowledge of whatsoever. We can't assume things will remain as they are, regardless of how well we've thought this through. If we need to regroup, when we need to regroup, where will it be?" Hermione asked, tying her hair into a tight bun above her head.

"Regulus's," he said in a carrying whisper, as two loud raps of the knocker filled the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt, his face grim and unassuming, entered, trailed by the old board members.

Now, days later and at the beginning of the very short set of Christmas holidays, Harry had started reliving much of that conversation with Hermione. Draco Malfoy, hulking by the steps, nodded at Harry, as if he understood that there would be a time to talk, and that time was not now. When Scorpius Malfoy finally emerged downstairs, the three Malfoys departed, with Ginny yelling for them to come again. As Draco exited, Harry was sure he saw an uncharacteristic smile on his face. Rose and Hugo, as far as Harry could see through the open door, were playing in the snow. Hermione, meanwhile, stared at Harry intensely, like she was trying to observe his every movement.

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She shook her head.

"Nothing. Merry Christmas!" she said cheerily, stepping towards him, but Harry could tell that her hug was somewhat forced. He had a nagging suspicion that she was thinking many of the things he was thinking.

Ron remained loitering in the hall, frowning after Hermione. He looked at Harry, who gave him a knowing look and mouthed "Tomorrow," before leaving the room at his wife's heels. Harry stayed awake until he and Ginny managed to return the house to a decent state again. His worn out mind was focused on a single task- collapse onto his bed. As he closed his eyes that night, hearing Ginny softly breathe beside him, he saw the bright sign outside _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes,_ and he dreamt of Death-Eaters and Aurors clashing on strange terrains.


	12. Chapter 11: A Headmaster's Lesson

**Chapter 11: A Headmaster's Lesson**

Things had taken a slightly strange turn at Malfoy Manor. When he awoke, bleary eyed and drowsy, Scorpius realized his father had not slept a wink all through the night. His mother had not appeared in the hallway just yet; he imagined she would remain curled up in her thick blankets for as long as humanly possible. As Scorpius began to raid the spacious kitchen for any food he could find, he caught his father's attention, who looked up from his sinister-green coffee mug with bloodshot eyes. Scorpius questioned how adults could consume so much of anything- he supposed an adult's blood largely consisted of caffeine and wine.

His father seemed furious, active, and more alert than he had ever been. In truth, Scorpius did not understand why his family had gone to the Potters' for Christmas. All he knew was that after what seemed to be a long day out of the house, Draco Malfoy had returned, discussed something before Scorpius came along, rummaged in the basement, and promptly decided to leave for his arch-enemy's home in Godric's Hollow. Scorpius wondered how many Slytherin wizards had crossed the threshold of Gryffindor's famous abode.

In hindsight, Scorpius might've questioned the decision a little more. His overflowing glee at going to the Potters had masked all thought. The picture of a Christmas not in the dark space of his manor but with his new friends made the young Malfoy feel like he had restarted his Hogwarts life entirely. When James and Albus rushed out of the rooms to greet him and pull him along, Scorpius had been giddy with joy. But now, with the morning sun, a host of questions plagued him. His version of history and the Battle of Hogwarts was broken up already- he had a few details in the form of confessions from his father, and he had the venomous stories that the bullies at Hogwarts told. He had tried hard to let the rumors flow into one ear and out the other, but eventually, some of them had stuck in his head. They were nagging questions that had never left the tip of his tongue in his father's presence- but over the past day, many of those questions had faded into non-existence.

He could not imagine how difficult it must have been for his father to stand on Harry Potter's doorstep. In his first three years, Scorpius had been conflicted in his feelings towards Mr. Potter. Splashed regularly over the front page of _The Daily Prophet,_ handsome and intimidating in black and gold Auror robes, and most of all, with a pleasant smile always on his face, Scorpius was unsure of whether to envy Harry Potter or hate him. He would note his father grimace as he read Rita Skeeter's feature on the Potter-Weasley clan, and right in the beginning, he assumed his father had been filled with the envy he was so afraid of feeling. When the first Gryffindor third-year cornered him outside his Transfiguration class, Scorpius found out that much of his schoolmates pictured Draco Malfoy as lower than the lowest scum. Harry Potter was rimmed in gold, glowing like a God, and the Malfoys were dirty rats scavenging the ground for food. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, black and gold and red and beautiful, were pedestals above Draco and Astoria Malfoy.

By the time Scorpius settled into Hogwarts, James Sirius Potter had already rendered three Quidditch teams absolutely worthless. He was a blur on a broom, and it didn't even _feel_ like he caught the Snitch himself- it was like the Golden Snitch desperately wanted for his touch. His schoolmates revered him as a hero, and the only one who seemed almost at par with his talent was a Slytherin boy two years above Scorpius. Lucio Zabini and James became rivals on the Quidditch pitch and friends off it. With his close set of friends, James Potter had become nothing but interesting to Scorpius. He had noticed how James grimaced when he overheard the other students talking about "Harry Potter's son", and he had understood as much as he could, that James Potter had a different sort of arrogance about him, as if he desperately wanted to step out of his father's shadow, and he was sure he would. Scorpius, in his own way, wanted to step out of Draco Malfoy's shadow. It seemed as though Draco Malfoy was now trying to step out of his _own_ hulking shadow, a shadow of darkness rooted in the past. Now, James and Scorpius had flown together, he zipping through the air on Rose's _Firebolt,_ and he had even gone to the Potters' for Christmas. It seemed, all of a sudden, like Scorpius had fallen into one of the happy novels filling his mother's library upstairs.

With crisp, buttered toast wafting enticing aromas into the air, Scorpius sat down beside his father to eat his breakfast. Draco was rifling through _The Daily Prophet,_ his eyes focused on a large headline: "IS THE MINISTRY PREPARED FOR ANOTHER WAR?"

"She's been at it for years and she's still writing rubbish…" muttered Draco, reaching out and grasping a piece of toast. He crunched down, shaking his head with annoyance.

"Is the Ministry prepared for another war, father?" Scorpius asked, his eyes widening in pretend innocence.

"I don't quite know, but they better be," said Draco with a sigh.

"And was Rita Skeeter writing even when _you_ were in school?"

"You could say she was at her peak when I was in school, Scorpius. Seemed like she was everywhere at one point. And then, she disappeared for a bit, and then the War began, but she resurfaced soon enough after Voldemort was killed." As he spoke, Draco began folding up the newspaper back into its original configuration. A shade of disappointment flickered across his face for an instant, as if he awaited news that _The Daily Prophet_ had neglected to mention.

"Disappeared?"

"No one knows, but she stopped writing for a while. But…"

"But what, Father?"

"I've always thought it had something to do with Potter and Granger," he said, chuckling darkly. He remembered wondering, in the dim light of the Slytherin Common Room, why Rita Skeeter had stopped her savage defamation of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. Her work had been brutal, and suddenly, she had a different tone about her. Somewhere in this time period, her interview with Harry Potter had been published in _The Quibbler._

"Did you speak to Mr. Potter about something important at Christmas?"

"Ye-what?"

Draco looked up from his coffee mug, entirely taken aback. His son stared at him with eyes he knew were filled with curiosity. Beneath the curiosity, there was a tiny gleam of triumph, for Scorpius had caught his father unawares. Draco frowned, narrowing his eyes and staring back at his son.

"That's none of your business," he said, though a shadow of amusement passed over his face. Scorpius grinned.

"Will you be joining the Ministry on the werewolf hunt, then?"

At this precise and unfortunate moment, Astoria clambered out into the hall, her robe trailing behind her, her eyes alert. Draco could see the sternness from where he sat.

"What on earth are you discussing?"

"Nothing," Draco said quickly, passing her the newspaper. "Just the news."

Astoria looked questioningly at her son, who simply smiled in reply.

"Just the news, Mother, nothing to worry about."

But as the day wore on, Scorpius could see his father pacing about the house, even venturing outside to kick around in the snow. As if there were nothing to occupy his time, he withdrew his wand from his pocket, creating unnatural patterns in the snow with steam jetting around him. The rest of the week went on in the same, restless way. On one of these days, from the window, Scorpius spotted a strange glow coming from the garden. As he watched, his father stood as a gleaming silver stag posed majestically in front of him. Its jaws moved up and down, and Draco nodded as if listening. Without a moment of hesitation, his father disapparated with a loud _crack._ Scorpius smiled from behind the glass window; Harry Potter's Patronus had become a symbol of justice through the years, pictured in numerous text books of Wizarding history.

Harry relished being behind closed doors and away from the blistering cold. Diagon Alley was crowded nonetheless, and the bright shop in front of him led the charge loudly. Scores of children and adults poured in and out of _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes,_ the former always clutching a colorful bag on their way out. It took Harry a great deal of time to spot Ron, finally finding his friend speaking avidly to a bunch of teenagers interested in fireworks. From what Harry could tell, Ron was giving them the lowdown on how easy it was to set them off to get out of class. With a pained smile, Harry cursed himself for having to be here, pulling Ron away from the work he enjoyed the most. Ron seemed alive, energetic, and blissfully happy, and George was no less of an enigma in the shop. Treated much like a legend in the wizarding humor world, George Weasley's numerous appearances on popular radio shows across Britain had given him a godly status. It had also ensured that the shop never failed to play host to an endless line of customers every day. Admittedly, Ron had to eventually come to terms with the fact that many of the customers often came to speak to him, though Harry suspected he enjoyed it more than he let on.

At some point during Lord Voldemort's control of the Ministry, Fred and George's incredible creation became a part of the war. Selling an endless array of items to protect and strengthen you in the face of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters, _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_ began to both make you laugh as well as keep you safe. Most of all, Harry realized, these were products that actually _worked._ He remembered the flurry of underground trade that flourished in Hogwarts every time exams rolled around- kids selling the oddest of items, claiming they boosted your intelligence, intensified your focus, or even gave you the best of luck. Most of these products, Harry and Ron found out to their disappointment, were fakes. Out of them, all had been discovered to be useless by Hermione. But Fred and George's creations were incredible, tested, and successful.

After the war, when Ron became an Auror, working side by side with Harry to reshape and renovate the entire department, his connection to Defense against the Dark Arts increased exponentially. Meanwhile, George moved forward with his plans, expanding the shop to newer heights. When Ron eventually departed the Auror ranks and rejoined the Weasley business, his move was published on the front page of _The Daily Prophet- "Auror Expert Ron Weasley turns Businessman!"_ To the public, it was no outrage- simply a reason to visit the shop. Children in Britain heard that their favorite joke shop now had an Auror at its helm, and their desire to visit was uncontrollable. Harry realized how intelligent a move it had truly been, for with George Weasley continuing to do what he did best- create objects that brought smiles to people's faces, and Ron innovating a brand new range of protection items, _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_ was no longer a company- it was a living thing. Part of this living thing, Ron had become the admired wizard and ex-Auror that everyone wanted to say hello to. Most of the time, Ron said he hated the endless greetings, the repeated politeness he had to feign. But George told a different story one night at _The Burrow,_ a night a few months after Ron's exit from the Auror department.

"So there we were, discussing the new range of Skiving Snackboxes, and this little girl comes up," George was saying, a twinkle in his eye as a blush crept up Ron's neck. "And she looks up and says "Mr. Weasley, can you give me an autograph? And can you tell me how you broke out of Gringotts on the dragon?" And Ron, well, you know Ron."

"What?" asked Hermione, managing to control herself.

"He signed everything that little girl owned."

Chuckling as he remembered the rest of the night, Harry found he had caught Ron's attention. Much to his surprise, Ron seemed eager to speak. A spark jumped in his eyes- far from what was expected. He had assumed that Ron, upon spotting him, would slump his shoulders, for he must have known why Harry had come. After gesturing to George, Ron wound his way through the crowd to Harry, who began edging towards the door he had come through.

Five minutes later, the pair had found seats by the window at a newly opened pub, _The Flying Flobberworm._ Ron's special fondness for Muggle whiskey had never changed, Harry observed. He admitted that it had a peculiar but addictive taste to it. As soon as the waitress placed the drinks on the table, Ron had picked up his glass, pressing it to Harry's. He took a deep swig, and setting the glass down with satisfaction, raised his eyebrows challengingly.

"You were right in the end, Harry," he said. Harry frowned. The conversation had begun in the most unexpected way possible.

"All this, it's great, mate, the money, the fans, the shop…" Ron's sentence hung in the air as he took another sip. Suddenly understanding, Harry smiled, reclining comfortably in his chair. He loved finding out that a task he expected to be impossible turned out to be rather easy to accomplish.

"Not exciting enough for you?" he asked, sipping from his own glass. Ron scowled at him from across the small, circular table.

"I miss Hogwarts," he said, his expression turning wistful. Harry grinned, picturing himself and Ron in their Quidditch robes, taking flights around the castle. They spent a large amount of the next hour reliving Hogwarts. Snorting with laughter more than often, Harry found himself incredibly happy. He almost forgot about his task entirely. He checked his watch, and Ron's eyes followed the movement.

"You don't need to ask. I want to come back."

Harry looked up to find Ron grinning. A huge measure of relief passed through Harry in that moment, as if a gigantic stone in his path had been moved aside. As quickly as he could before Draco Malfoy walked in through the pub doors, Harry explained his plan to Ron. He recounted the incident involving Draco at Knockturn Alley, and Ron immediately agreed. Ron's resolve seemed to solidify after Harry told him why Draco had turned up at the Christmas party.

"Honest, Harry, I wondered what the hell he was doing when he turned up at Christmas. But for some reason, I didn't think it was such a bad thing."

"Can't say I'm not surprised by that," smirked Harry. He had doubted all along if Ron would agree to cooperate with Draco Malfoy. Ron waved his hand dismissively.

"No, enough time has passed. Weasley's don't hold grudges." He said it like a rehearsed line that Hermione had made him practice, but Harry knew he meant it. He was entirely in the right- such a long time period separated their Hogwarts lives and the now. Nodding, Harry went on, brushing through his whispered conversation with Hermione weeks ago.

"I thought as much," said Ron, nodding. "She won't tell me what's going on, but it's not easy to see it's a bad situation. This isn't school, where we need to back each other up. Splitting up may be the best idea over here."

Harry nodded fervently, feeling accomplished with Ron's approval. He was also internally glad Ron had dived into the situation so quickly- he was already thinking like an Auror. They lapsed into silence, but Harry knew Ron was reviewing the plans that had been set in motion by the Ministry. His eyes became more serious as he recounted more and more of the detailed plan he had worked on years ago.

"First step's setting up a new Headquarters, that's for sure. I'm guessing you thought of Grimmauld Place already?"

Harry nodded.

"And I expect you'll stop going to the office now?"

Harry nodded. Indeed, the plan was in motion once Christmas began. He knew, at this time, that all his Aurors were amidst preparations to relocate their families and await instructions. The other Ministry employees must have begun packing their things, getting ready to shift at a moment's notice. He wondered where Hermione planned on setting up the government, but he stopped himself from thinking about. It was better if he lived on in ignorance, at least until he regrouped with her. Even so, the relocation of the entire government's headquarters was not imminent as yet. At the moment, they restricted their communication to owl-post, for fear that they were being watched. Hermione was prepared for the worst possibility- that the enemy would see the Head of the Aurors and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement together and attack out of fear. The first attack was always the surprise, always the real fear, and Hermione tried to push it as far away as possible. But Harry knew that in the end, not everything was under their control, no matter how careful they were.

"We'll need someone at the Auror Headquarters. Make it seem like we're working on finding the werewolves. Someone we stay in constant communication with."

Ron was now saying all the things Harry had been thinking, but it sounded so much more _real_ when Ron said it with conviction in his voice. Perfectly on time, Draco Malfoy appeared in front of them, brushing the snowflakes off his cloak. Waving his wand and making a chair appear out of thin air, he took a seat after shaking their hands. Ron seemed completely at ease, but perhaps there were too many things on his mind at present for him to worry about spending time with an old enemy. Harry brought Draco up to speed, explaining how Ron and he were listing the various changes that would take place in the future. When he finished revealing the plan, Draco seemed to be rather excited at the prospect of fooling the enemy with a false government.

"Brilliant, you'll be a step ahead in every situation," was the only thing he had to say once Harry was done. Ron raised an eyebrow, apparently approving of Malfoy's words. "And _The Prophet_ will of course publicize every detail it gets a hold of, which-"

"Is perfect, because Rita will know nothing important," finished Ron, nodding at Draco. "Can I see the mask?"

Draco withdrew the mask from his cloak, passing it to Ron, who made a disgusted face as he examined the ugly object. He glared at it, like it would suddenly fly into the air and cast spells of destruction in every direction.

"So this is the only known face of our enemy," he stated, his voice quivering slightly. It seemed that finally, Ron was in Harry's train of thought- worry. He passed it back to Malfoy gingerly, who felt relieved to put it back in its hidden spot beneath his cloak. Harry intended on letting Draco know what Ron and he had been discussing moments before he entered _The Flying Flobberworm,_ but it seemed that the ex-Slytherin student was bursting to say something. After a quick glance around the relatively empty pub, and a quicker sip of his goblet of Firewhiskey, Draco withdrew a sheaf of ragged parchment from his bodice. He flattened it out, clearly quite lax about its treatment.

"I spent most of this week going through the oldest Malfoy family documents, Potter," he said, looking wide-eyed at Ron and Harry, who noted instantly through Malfoy's red eyes that he had spent _all_ of the week on this examination.

"And did you find anything that helps us?" asked Ron, sitting forward all of a sudden, his attention fixed on Draco. Harry watched with wonder, for Ron was shaking with excitement. Draco smiled grimly, before pulling out a single sheet of parchment littered with rune-alphabets and numbers arranged in neat columns. He held it out to them, though what he expected them to understand from it Harry did not know. A part of him wondered if, ignorant to Harry, Draco had taken Ancient Runes classes at Hogwarts. He rubbished the thought- he was sure Hermione would have told him about an unpleasant classmate.

"Accounts," said Malfoy, smiling in satisfaction. "Written by one of my oldest ancestors. So far back that my father never taught me about it when he explained our family tree."

Ron made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort.

"To think, Harry, we finally get to analyze the noble and pure bloodline of the Malfoys," he said, but Harry detected no hint of derision or malice in his voice. Ron was amused at the way the situation had panned out. Admittedly, Harry had to say he found the moment rather comical too- Draco Malfoy openly laying out his family's accounts in front of blood traitors implied that things were far from what they had been. To their surprise, Malfoy found it far funnier than they did.

"My father will never forgive me, will he?" he asked into the air, chortling. A fleeting image of Lucius Malfoy looking at the three of them, his upper lip curling, came to Ron and Harry at the same time, and they found themselves roaring with laughter. Clutching his side, Harry waved his hand at Malfoy to go on.

"What does it say?" he asked, gesturing at the parchment in question.

"It seems that my mother's side has the tiniest of connections to the Gold Brotherhood," said Malfoy very quietly, so softly that Harry and Ron were forced to lean in.

"Sirius," said both Ron and Harry at the same time. Draco shook his head.

"Yes, and no. Sirius Black's ancestors are many, and the Black bloodline is one of the largest in wizarding genealogy," Draco went on. "Cygnus Black the First wrote on the oldest parchment in my possession. Cygnus Black the Third is my mother's father."

Ron let out a low whistle, and Harry shook his head appreciatively at the extent of Malfoy's research.

"Understand this, both of you. Before most of the Dark Wizards united under Tom Riddle's banner, there were an endless number of organizations meddling with dark magic. And before the Ministry was fully formed, there were no rules, only family boundaries. The noblest of families are families whose bloodlines never ended, and span through centuries, like the Blacks, and the Malfoys, even the Weasleys. Can you think of how these families have survived after all this time?"

Harry and Ron shook their heads. It was true- Harry had never thought about it. Even when tracing his connection to Ignotus Peverell, he had found himself marveling at how diverse and deep bloodlines were, but he had never wondered just how some of the most famous bloodlines had survived.

"Wizarding history is long and extensive, Potter. And most of all, bloody. You know the story of the Elder Wand too well," said Draco, nodding at Harry.

"Most of these noble bloodlines survived because what happened to other families _didn't_ happen to them. Understand that at a point in wizarding history, we lived a kill or be killed life. Battles for superiority over other families, magical treasures, even for the sake of drawing blood."

"So you're saying the oldest bloodlines were the most powerful. They killed everyone else," said Ron flatly.

"No, actually," Draco said, shaking his head. "Though that's what I initially thought too. It turns out that the story's a bit different from what Binns taught us at school."

"How so?" asked Harry, struggling to remember any of what Cuthbert Binns had said in his many History of Magic classes.

"The oldest bloodlines stayed away from the bloodbath, that's why," whispered Draco. He held up the parchment of Cygnus the First's accounts. "And this is how."

"By paying them off?!" Ron exclaimed angrily. Draco nodded.

"It was a common practice for a wizarding family to opt to be removed from the battle by donating to the dark organization in power at the time. Gold and power was what anybody needed- when a family donated and helped the organization, it formed an unbreakable bond with the bloodline. The organization treats your family differently. I've heard of noble families becoming patrons, being treated like royalty. It's a simple tactic, really. That sort of practice doesn't exist anymore, but in small ways, I'm sure it did at some point. My father donated Galleons and Galleons to the Ministry when Fudge was in power, and he didn't do it because of his warm heart," added Draco, an edge to his voice now.

"Draco…" said Harry. "But if the Gold Brotherhood is such an unknown entity, why would a noble family donate to it?"

Draco but his lip hard, his knuckles turning white as he clenched the arm rests of his chair.

"Because whoever donated to the Gold Brotherhood knew that eventually, this would happen. Chaos erupting from order. I presume Cygnus Black the First thought he was protecting future generations of Blacks. In fact…" Malfoy paused, frowning hard.

"That day in Knockturn Alley," began Harry. "You said you hit one of them with _Sectumsempra."_

"I did."

"And then another appeared and helped the injured man escape."

"Yes."

"And you saw their masks, you caught them red-handed. And yet, the one that arrived second didn't try to hurt you in any way."

Ron cracked his knuckles, breathing out like he had just heard the heaviest piece of news imaginable.

"The second one recognized you as a Malfoy, and a descendant of Cygnus Black the First. You're not to be touched, mate," said Ron, eyeing Malfoy with a spark in his eye now. Harry exhaled.

"How much did Cygnus Black donate to the Gold Brotherhood, then?" asked Harry, his eye trained on the runic numbers.

"Twenty thousand Galleons."

Ron suddenly erupted with laughter, clutching the sides of his chair like a madman. Harry marveled at Draco Malfoy, who sighed.

"At that time…"

"Twenty thousand was a small fortune."

"Not effing small at all," muttered Ron gruffly.

"Either way, Weasley," said Malfoy almost sternly. "This piece of paper is also our best lead."

Harry looked at Malfoy questioningly.

"If the Gold Brotherhood stretches back as far as this, Cygnus Black is connected to Gringotts, Potter, and I bet everything I own that we'll find an answer in his vault," said Malfoy seriously. Flashes of underground Diagon Alley came to Harry suddenly, and a feeling of being very small in a very large cave. He scowled. But before he could voice his irritation, Ron spoke.

"How deep into Gringotts can a vault that old be…" he said slowly, and Harry thought he saw hopelessness in his eyes. But Ron shook himself of his stupor immediately, brightening up. "First step's asking the right questions. I'm going to Shell Cottage to speak to Bill right after this."

Harry sat back in his chair, suddenly feeling like another load had been lifted from his shoulders. His decisions felt more right than ever before. His body quivered with excitement. He felt like he would before preparing for one of his Auror missions, like every bone in his body was fully prepared for a fight. He no longer felt cornered, with too many loose ends to tie. Truth be told, he had not fully understood his enemy, but there was a feeling inside him that told him that he was on the right path. Ron's presence had somehow encouraged Harry, and made him far more positive. For too long now, he had been rethinking his moves based on what Remus or his father would do in the same situation. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how _different_ their situations were. Before Harry's time, when Voldemort was in power, they had been taken by surprise. They lived their lives in secret, because betrayal swooped at every corner. Widespread usage of the _Imperius_ and _Cruciatus_ curses by the Death Eaters had ensured that trust was a bleak prospect at the time. Harry knew that the only reason his family had remained alive for as long as they had been was because they had each other- they had _friends,_ however limited.

But now, smiled Harry, a powerful and dangerous force existed around them. The Battle of Hogwarts and Voldemort's reign of terror had created what Albus Dumbledore believed in- a family bonded together by a need for survival. The survivors left the battle different people, every one of them changed in some way. In retrospect, Harry saw Hogwarts as a strange journey of survival and happiness. Most of his school life had been spent dwelling on Lord Voldemort. Quidditch had been the one gleaming trophy, always on his mind. When he was on the broom, he had felt like a new person. And when he donned his Auror robes for the first time, he had felt the same way. Ron had gone through as much of a transformation, and Hermione blossomed into what they jokingly dubbed "a prettier McGonagall", something that Hermione did not especially enjoy. Neville had fought by Harry's side more than once since the Battle of Hogwarts; his brief stint as an Auror had been nothing short of amazing, and his interest in Magizoology made him Professor Sprout's successor as Herbology Professor at Hogwarts. Neville, along with a long list of friends, remained united by something so far in the past that Harry grinned to himself thinking about it. The Galleons that Hermione used a Protean Charm on glinted in his mind. He imagined Dolores Umbridge and her army of cats, snarling as she advanced on Dumbledore's Army.

"It all fits in perfectly," whispered Harry.

"What?" asked Ron.

"Draco, welcome to the Auror Department," Harry said, holding out his hand in front of Malfoy, whose jaw dropped in a rather uncharacteristic fashion. Ron, after initially starting in shock, seemed to understand what Harry was thinking. If anything, Ron seemed to approve of Harry's newest appointment. Malfoy took Harry's hand and shook it, but he frowned as he withdrew his own.

"Rita Skeeter will be on this like flies on a corpse," he said dolefully. He could almost imagine the headline. "Potter appoints ex-Death Eater in last-ditch attempt to find werewolves!", perhaps.

"Even better," said Harry.

"Potter, you need the public on your side at this point-"

"No, he's right, this works right into the plan. The Auror Department needs to remain with the rest of the government; nobody can know our current objective. The people must believe we're doing everything in our power to find the werewolves, and we can release information through the Auror Headquarters," said Ron breathlessly.

Malfoy looked confused. He looked between Harry and Ron.

"The man running things at Headquarters needs to keep the public calm," said Harry. "And at the same time, most of wizarding Britain falls under his care."

Harry and Ron both looked expectantly at Draco, who blanched.

"What? Are you crazy?"

"We're very serious, mate," said Ron, frowning.

"You want me running the Auror Department, managing the werewolf crisis and lying about your whereabouts?" demanded Malfoy.

Harry nodded solemnly.

"I had other plans in the beginning. I wanted Ron taking control of Headquarters."

"Oh?" Ron asked, cocking his head in annoyance.

"But after this conversation, I realize the position of power this puts us in. _You_ put us in. If the Brotherhood holds true to its word, then they won't interfere with the Auror Department as long as you sit in its office. But if they're as crooked as I think they are, there's every possibility that they'll reach out and try to communicate with you. They might think that you, being a descendant of Cygnus Black the First, are a sympathizer. I assume they'll try to bring you over to their side."

Draco stared at Harry, his eyes widening with every word.

"Either way, it puts us in an advantageous situation. While Ron and I try finding out more about the Brotherhood, you're pinpointing Greyback's army. Teddy and you will be the faces of the movement."

Ron and Harry rapidly gave Draco a brief overview of how the Auror office worked, assuring him that Teddy Tonks would be by his side at all moments. In truth, Harry knew that none of what they discussed would come to be, for not one of them could predict how this would play out. Harry would have zero control over the Headquarters, and while this gave him a tense, knotted feeling in his stomach, he couldn't see any other way. Most of what Draco felt, he could understand. In his Hogwarts years, Harry had been the subject of Rita Skeeter's scathing journalism. But after four years, he had long since become used to being a topic of gossip. He no longer flew into a rage when Hermione revealed Rita's newest and most rubbish-filled scoop. After Voldemort's demise, Rita changed tack for a short while, before rescinding into her normal, insulting, inventive dialogue again. Harry didn't mention it to Draco, but he was absolutely sure that Skeeter would attack him as viciously as she did Harry. It would be the most difficult task of all his tasks, Harry realized, for Draco to let public outrage flow over his head.

But Harry had thought it through, weighing the situation on either hand as Dumbledore would have done. He remembered the Malfoys on his doorstep that cold, joyful Christmas eve- Scorpius's excited, eager, bright face, Astoria's unseen trust in her husband, and most of all, Draco's strange ability to hold his family together. Had Draco Malfoy not had this quality, Harry was sure that the three would not have appeared at Godric's Hollow. It must have taken a great deal of trust for Astoria Malfoy to accompany her husband into what surely seemed like imminent danger. For all Harry knew, Astoria was keeping a close watch on him, keeping tabs on her husband's well-being. He shivered to think about it, though it warmed his heart strangely. On Christmas, her conversations with him had been limited, halting, and forced, giving Harry the impression that she knew him just as well as Draco did- all too well. Every word she said seemed different from the steely stare in her eyes- as if she challenged him to step in the wrong direction, as if she was well-aware of the dangerous path he was prepared to take with her husband. If he didn't bring Draco Malfoy back to her alive, he knew, as grim as it seemed, that he would need to hide behind Ginny for eternity. But, when he thought about it, would Ginny even _be_ on his side? Harry narrowed his eyes, picturing himself fleeing the countryside on his son's _Firebolt,_ with Ginny racing behind him, her red hair flying fiercely behind her.

Although it frightened him plenty, Harry could not deny that Astoria Malfoy was an important piece on the chess board. For some strange reason, every time he looked at her, Albus Dumbledore appeared in his mind. A mother's love, Harry had understood by now, was the greatest and most powerful force in the universe. As he watched Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley talk, he had a vivid picture of Narcissa Malfoy and Molly Weasley, followed by his own beautiful mother. He chuckled to himself, musing about whether their mothers would approve of their strategies.


	13. Chapter 12: Carols in the Distance

**Chapter 12: Carols in the Distance**

Counting himself lucky that his mother had left the house to shop for groceries, James soared above the snow covered houses of Godric's Hollow, the cold wind biting at his face and his cloak flapping at his ankles. He meant to keep his promise to his father, and not venture too far. He floated up into the sky, where everything was quiet. He swiveled around on his _Firebolt,_ trying to see into the prickly clouds around him. He directed his wand at them, and a translucent red jet of air blasted forth from its tip. The clouds disappeared when exposed to the hot red air, dissipating around James like smoke. He grinned as he looked around, able to see more clearly than before; he was privileged to get a quick lesson on locating magical creatures from Rolf Scamander and Luna. In the minutes before they left Godric's Hollow that Christmas night, they managed to teach him magic he had never understood before- or rather, they taught him that magic was a flexible, changeable force, all at the mercy of a wizard's willpower. Simple changes to minor spells that he had learnt years ago rendered them incredibly useful, especially up in the clouds starving for visibility.

There was nothing unexpected above Godric's Hollow, only cold currents of air. James mused, if a dragon came at him at this moment, would he have the flying skill to avoid it? He gazed below, his eyes finding the tiny square that was his home. He frowned; his father had been acting rather odd over the past week. He had gone out only once, and had spent the rest of the week either playing wizard's chess with Ron Weasley or in his study, reading. Once in a while, James thought he heard the muffled sound of an explosion coming from Harry Potter's study, but there were _always_ explosions in their house with Albus and their mother. James had spent plenty of time with his father over the holidays, but something felt distracted in him, as if he was attempting, in vain, to relax. This morning, James had asked his parents at breakfast if he could take a flight around the village. Ginny's answer had been break-neck, but Harry's answer was as swift, as well as entirely opposite. Ginny gave him a quick look, and both of them dropped the topic entirely. But once his wife left the house, Harry gave James a knowing look.

"Promise me you won't go further than Godric's Hollow. And be back in half an hour."

James nodded, sprinting to his room. He didn't bother using the stairs, flying straight down and out of the open door, much to his father's amusement. Once in the air, James felt like he understood in some way why his father seemed to be relaxing so much over the past month. It filled him with pride to know that while the rest of the nation was flying into a panic over werewolves, Harry Potter was quietly thinking his way forward. James found himself feeling fiercely protective of his home and his school. He knew that if his father were in his position, he would be doing everything in his power to make sure his friends were safe. He imagined a group of dragons swooping down on Hogwarts from above- dragons so big the castle crumbled under their feet.

When he returned home, brushing the snow off his cloak, he helped himself to the hot tea on the table. His mother had not returned, much to his pleasant surprise. _The Daily Prophet_ was untouched upon the surface of the table. James reached for it, and was already unfurling it when he heard his father clear his throat. When he looked up, Harry was staring pointedly at him.

"How's Sixth Year going? Enjoying _NEWT_ Potions like I did?"

James laughed, surprised that his father had found the worst possible subject to talk about.

"I have Francis to help me, but I don't care about grades this year, Dad-"

"Winning the Quidditch Cup is not more important than your classes, James. Trust me, your Uncle Ron and I just scraped through and-"

"And look at both of you now- what does it matter?"

Harry scowled, internally blaming himself for the cheek that his son had undoubtedly inherited from the men before him.

"Those were different circumstances, James. You know that."

James nodded forlornly, acknowledging his father's words. He knew he should have cared, but there were far too many things on his mind for him to stay focused on his classes.

"And James, I need you to know that I won't be attending any of the final Quidditch matches this year."

Frowning, James surveyed his father, who looked as serious as ever.

"Are you going to be hunting for werewolves like Rita Skeeter says?"

Harry sat back, a chuckle rattling his teacup in its saucer. He had no doubt now why people said that James had a lot of him and a lot _more_ of Sirius. His son always seemed a step ahead. When Luna had sent him an owl about James' impressive use of the Marauder's Map with Lucio Zabini, he had felt nothing but proud. He reminded himself to let George know how even now, the famous creation was being put to good use. And then Harry had seen James in the sky. It had been an ecstatic feeling, as if Harry watched himself from where he sat. But in truth, James was betterthan Harry had been. When he sat in the stands, watching James take on Lucio Zabini, he had shivered watching the final dive. His son had been inch-perfect in his movement; a quality Harry had only seen in Viktor Krum against a rather relentless Irish Quidditch Team.

His conversation with Ron at _The Flying Flobberworm_ had made him reminisce about his school-life, and Harry found himself unable to stop thinking about the corridors of Hogwarts- even the shifting staircases, and the Pumpkin Juice, and so much more. More than anything, while his son took to the sky that morning, Harry had remembered that James was in his sixth year at Hogwarts. He presumed that James' year must surely end better than his at the time. Before Severus Snape fired a Killing Curse at Albus Dumbledore, Harry had been having a school year rocked by incidents of violence and shock, surmounted by what seemed to be a fruitless search for Horcruxes. The previous year, he had been frustratingly enduring being treated like a child in an adult's battle- and in truth, he had been one, even if he was in the very center of it. He would never forget the helpless feeling of knowing there was a storm around him, a storm ripping through friends and family, and he could do nothing but continue his classes. He had thought carefully about the next few words he had for James.

"No, I won't be hunting for werewolves. And don't say it like Skeeter does. Werewolves are not all beasts, you know that. But…" Harry added before James could interrupt.

"Ron and I will be elsewhere, doing other things. Don't ask me what, this is as much as I can tell you," he warned. James nodded excitedly at the prospect of his Uncle joining the Aurors- he had only read about his proficiency, but never truly seen it with his own eyes.

"What about Aunt Hermione?"

"I assume she'll be busy with the Ministry. Someone will need to be."

James looked unusually happy, to Harry's amusement.

"James," he said seriously. His tone was grim enough for his son's smile to falter.

"While I'm away, there might be things you hear, things that are reported in the papers and those that are not. I need you to be alert and aware of your surroundings at all times."

"What do you mean? Why would I need to be careful in Hogwarts?" James asked, but the answer came to him just as quickly as the question. He remembered a tribe of human beings, with one gigantic woman closing her large hand around Scorpius' neck, and he remembered the Ironbelly. He said none of what was on his mind, for he had told his father nothing. It was clear to James though, that his father did not mean anything of the sort.

"I was told Hogwarts was a fortress too, and with Dumbledore protecting it, we had nothing to fear. It's true- you have nothing to fear at all, especially with McGonagall, Neville, and Hagrid always there. But all the same, I want you to be on the lookout no matter what. And if you see or hear anything unusual, you tell one of them. If you won't tell your mother, that is."

Harry ran a hand through his messy black hair.

"When I was sixteen, I wished I had been more prepared for everything that happened afterwards. I need you to understand that while I'm gone, we are all vulnerable- your mother can take care of herself, but you have a little brother and sister to look after."

They heard the click of a door; Ginny had returned from her shopping trip. Harry ruffled his oldest son's hair, hoping he hadn't frightened him. He didn't think anything would happen at Hogwarts- not with the amount of protection it already had. Ron and his plan had involved keeping several members of the old Dumbledore's Army on standby at all times, and Neville's prowess in the Auror department made him the perfect guardian of the school. Regardless, he wanted his sixteen year old son to depend on his own skill at a time when nothing was certain. Above all, Harry wanted to see his son lift the Quidditch Cup as Gryffindor Captain. He smiled sadly at the thought of not being present for the moment- to see the Potter legacy of Quidditch excellence continued.

Hidden behind numerous books perched on an endless set of shelves, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had her eyes glued to _Hogwarts: A History._ The first few pages were nonsense in her mind- she barely took in a word, and the words didn't come to her like they usually did. She could not muster enough focus to revive her memory of the book she had read the _most_ through her years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Soon, the pages began making sense again and she found herself calming down. It had taken more than a moment for her to register Ron's absence in the joyous streets of Diagon Alley- after George revealed that Harry and her husband had departed _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_ many hours ago, Hermione understood that Harry Potter had finally begun making his moves.

She found herself, rather uncharacteristically, panicking. Her children's faces flashed before her eyes, and her empty house, and every spell she had ever learnt. As she pored over the pages of _Hogwarts: A History,_ she almost saw the corridors of her school in front of her. Though every year was a vivid memory etched into her head, her seventh and final year had been an eye-opening hurricane of emotions. She had never braved Hogwarts without Harry and Ron by her side, but with the need for secrecy and haste absent, she saw her school in a different light. It was an entirely different feeling, thought Hermione, to walk the corridors of Hogwarts without looking over her shoulder. Once in a while, Mrs. Norris would bother her by slinking in between her legs, perhaps smelling the remnants of Crookshanks' scent.

Argus Filch, like most of the school, gave Hermione a reasonable amount of space. Students passed her with awe-struck expressions, some making fleeting attempts at conversation, but the teachers treated her much like royalty. She spent most of her _NEWT_ year exploring the parts of the school she never had time for, even assisting with its repair. She had a dearth of assignments to deal with, for none of the teachers felt it was necessary to labor Hermione Granger with ordinary assignments. Even so, they were hardly surprised when she aced all her _NEWT_ subjects. Hovering, with explicit permission from Madam Pince, in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library, she would grin to herself.

Reading _Hogwarts: A History_ made her think of the long hours she had spent in Professor McGonagall's office. The only place that enchanted her more than the Hogwarts library was Albus Dumbledore's old study, amid all his interesting magical items, books, and memories. More than often, she found herself conversing with the old Headmaster, who was, to her surprise, more engaging in conversation than she ever thought. In truth, Hermione had never truly spent much time talking to Dumbledore, nor did she especially want to, but her days in McGonagall's office turned into enlightening sessions whether she liked it or not, for Albus Dumbledore's portrait always seemed to know more than her about _everything._

"The Restricted section no longer captures your fancy, I gather?" he had said to her, the very first time. She had gasped in surprise, for in her comfortable spot by the window, she had not noticed Dumbledore return to his portrait. His lighthearted chuckle filled her with warmth, and she found herself tearfully smiling at the beautifully painted face.

"No, Sir. I find your office far more enjoyable," she had told him, shutting her book with a low thud.

Dumbledore revealed to Hermione that his portraits had in fact been spread across a great many places, but the one frame he constantly returned to was one hanging in _The_ _Hog's Head._ Hermione had a nagging suspicion it hung right beside Ariana Dumbledore's beaming face, and she noted mentally to let Harry know that the Dumbledore's spent a considerable amount of time together these days.

"Aberforth and I found that, with my unfortunate demise," said Dumbledore, a familiar tinkle in his eye, as if it amused him to no end to speak of his own death. "We were able to move past the events of history, and discuss things as brothers do. Certainly, the past left scars, but if I've learnt anything from you, Mr. Weasley, and Harry, it's that scars heal."

The soft sound of laughter filled Hermione's library, and the pages of _Hogwarts: A History_ were soon wet with salty tears. She closed the book with an expression on her face far different from a few moments ago, wondering all the while if Albus Dumbledore actually planned what he was going to say to people, or if it was all spontaneous. It was an entirely different level of genius, she felt, to be able to communicate the most perfect things in the most perfect manner, even if he did speak in riddles more than often- riddles that amused him to no end.

Indeed, Albus Dumbledore's portrait had told her the truth. The initial panic that blossomed in her chest disappeared entirely. Ron's absence from _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_ was a welcome absence now, for she could only grin as she thought of Harry and Ron racing through the countryside, wands drawn, being steps ahead of the enemy. It gave her a thrill to watch the pair in combat, for together, they were almost invincible. After Harry had been made the Head of the Department, the duo had then transformed into a famous, widely publicized, absolutely unstoppable trio. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom were largely responsible for Azkaban's residents. She smiled grimly to herself. Flashes of Wizengamot sessions came to her; she was solely responsible for a certain ex-High Inquisitor of Hogwarts finding her way to a cell.

Positively glowing, Hermione raised her wand, and down from the bedroom soared a small, beaded handbag. She touched the surface with relish, opening it and immersing her hand into it all the way up to her shoulder. Impressed that the Undetectable Extension Charm had held strong after all these years, she began depositing a few of her most important books, along with Ugnak the Sturdy's journal entries, into the vast abyss of the handbag. She found herself thinking about her friends and her family, musing that like her, there must have been someone beginning their preparations for the coming months.


	14. Chapter 13: From the Grave

**Chapter 13: From the Grave**

The lobby of the Ministry of Magic was a chaotic mess of disgruntled employees. The noise was cacophonic, for every conversation seemed to be quick and simple to the point of shouting. Heads of minor and major departments threw orders to the employees under them, and paper memos zipped to and fro. Spells flew like a battle, with various documents and items flying around. Employees were disappearing in green light as they stepped into the fires crackling with Floo Powder. Angrily muttering about how an evacuation plan was "hardly necessary" and that there was "no real evidence that there's an army out there", along with the fact that "listening to mad prisoners" was ridiculous, the Ministry employees conducted themselves with as much dignity and self-restraint as they could.

Through this whirlwind of panic and paper, a rather serious looking young man stepped. Eyes would flicker to him once in a while, for in his calm and swift walk, he set a new pace. Teddy Lupin _already_ had a shocking appearance this day. His hair was straight, falling to his shoulders, and an electric blue shade. Clad in a crisp black Muggle suit, Teddy had just returned from his grandmother's house. After helping her move her things into Shell Cottage, where she would be staying until the mess was over and done with, he bade her farewell, informing her of his future tasks as Head of the Hit Wizards. Andromeda's stern face lit up with pride, before she looked at him, peering at him through thick glasses. She seemed to be sizing him up, before nodding and promptly returning to her knitting. She seemed to already be used to the pleasant environment of Shell Cottage, and interacting with Louis and Dominique seemed to be the most important part of her day.

"Make me proud, grandson. And for heaven's sake, you are not a boy, you are the Head of the Hit Wizards," she added with an edge in her voice. "Dress like one."

Teddy's hands were itching, and a burning restlessness occupied much of his mind. He had been holding back his excitement for a very long time now; the last thing he needed was Harry doubting his capabilities.. But now, Teddy felt his body ready for combat; his wand arm was ready to defend and protect, and he relished the chance to do his job. He made his way through the lobby, stepping into an elevator that six people jumped out of. Within seconds, the elevator rattled to a stop and a sleek woman's voice echoed within its frame.

"Level Nine, Department of Mysteries," she said.

Stepping out onto the navy blue and black corridor, he walked very slowly, noting that it was as silent as it always was. Without its pair of security guards, the Department of Mysteries was less imposing. Apart from that, nothing seemed different, although a lone figure seemed to be walking towards him. Hands deep in his pockets, hair unkempt and bright orange, Percy was lost in thought, and his glasses looked so unbalanced it was surprising they remained on his person. He frowned as if he was deeply conflicted, and in the silence of the corridor, Teddy could feel it from where he stood. Percy stopped abruptly in front of him, finally noticing his presence. Up close, Percy Weasley was burdened with stress, the dark circles and bags under his eyes as prominent as his cheekbones; he had lost a reasonable amount of weight, to a point where Teddy could see how overworked the Head of the Department of Mysteries was.

"How did you know I'd still be up here?" he asked, embracing him.

"I didn't," said Teddy, hugging his cousin. Percy looked him up and down, but didn't comment on his appearance.

"Shouldn't you be with Victoire?" he asked, frowning. "I assumed Harry had you on the hunt. You don't have too much time on your hands."

Teddy shrugged.

"Saw her yesterday, my grandmother's at Shell Cottage now."

Percy nodded.

"Why are you still here? What does the evacuation plan entail for the Department of Mysteries?" asked Teddy, making Percy sigh heavily.

"Oh," he said, blushing. "Sorry, I forgot." In the moment, Teddy had completely lost his bearings, unable to remember that just like his employees, Percy was an Unspeakable. Though he interacted with people more than a normal Unspeakable, solely with his family and close friends, he couldn't divulge any _real_ information about the Department's whereabouts and plans.

"No, it's quite alright. In any case…" Percy said vaguely, looking back towards the corridor. He shook his head, as if to wake himself up. His hair was messier than before.

"I spoke to Ron when he stopped by Shell Cottage to see Bill. Harry believes it's safer for the Department of Mysteries to make its own decisions, independent of the Ministry. After all, this Department _is_ older than the government itself."

Percy began to walk, and Teddy found himself by his side. They passed rooms he knew on sight were tightly locked.

"Unfortunately, there is no relocation option for us. Too much crucially important information lies on Level Nine, and this is the safest place for it."

"Harry and the others broke into the Department, along with the Death Eaters, if I remember right."

"No denying it," said Percy seriously. "But I believe, and as does Albus Dumbledore, that there were other magical forces at play when Harry Potter ventured into the Hall of Prophecies."

"Dumbledore?"

"I never expected to work here, Teddy. I wanted to be Minister for Magic," said Percy, laughing. "So when Kingsley offered me the job, I considered saying no. I went to Dumbledore for advice. He convinced me to do it."

"And you've been here ever since," acknowledged Teddy.

"Yes, I have, I enjoy every second of it. I spoke to Dumbledore about Harry's adventure into the Hall of Prophecies. There are some... forces that overpower all others. Some forces that make you invisible to all magic. No charm can detect your presence, because the magical force surrounding you is so powerful. I believe, at times, Dumbledore had this, and so did Harry. This room," Percy said, pointing to a door.

"Love," said Teddy.

"The Love Chamber, yes. Dumbledore and I believe that much of the precautionary magic in the Department of Mysteries was rendered useless after Harry arrived at the Ministry. The power of his mother's protection over him, along with the protection of a great number of people around him, made it less possible for the Department to stop him. Perhaps. We can only assume. Regardless, the Department today is not what it was during Harry's time. I believe it _is_ the safest place. For centuries, wizards have studied the most dangerous things in our world, and some of these things are immovable. The Chamber of Death, for example," said Percy, gesturing to a door to his right. "is untouchable."

Teddy nodded.

"Are you immovable as well?" he asked.

"No, though there will always be one man in the Department of Mysteries."

Teddy looked puzzled. They had stopped outside a door marked with an odd yellow symbol. For an unexplainable reason, Teddy felt drawn to the room. He wanted to reach out and try to open it, though he knew it would be locked. More than that, he could feel a strange energy emanating from the room, as if the very air vibrated so close to it. The room held magic of such ancient nature, and such unexplained force- it was difficult to not be restless when outside it.

"The Keeper of the Hall of Prophecies will always remain in the Department of Mysteries, and in the Ministry," he said softly. As Percy said these words, a pearly white man drifted through the wall. The man was small and petite; he came up to Teddy's elbow. But he had a distinguished air about him, a sense of power in his arching eyebrows. An aura radiated from him, an aura that, even in death, resonated in the world of the living. He wore a silver wig that curled to his shoulders, and he was dressed in purple robes that were translucent in the dim light. He ignored Teddy entirely, turning his attention to Percy and speaking with a certain amount of familiarity.

"I do dislike hooliganism, and this government seems to encourage it nonetheless. Hath you no shame, Weasley, that you are a deplorable part of this unruly Ministry? Or do you enjoy, like mindless chickens squawking over feed, this rubbish?"

Teddy was taken aback at the aggression in the man's voice. A ghost could not harm a wizard, but his anger was frightening. Percy bowed his head, ashamed.

"I apologize, Sir Ulick. Unfortunately, it is not my place to decide how the Ministry functions- only this level is under my jurisdiction. The Ministry is undergoing an emergency evacuation plan. It was devised by Harry Potter and my younger brother, Ronald. Most of the Departments are relocating their offices in case the Ministry Headquarters is attacked. I assume you passed the lobby on your way here."

Sir Ulick nodded distastefully at Teddy.

"And who is this strangely colored madman?"

Highly affronted, Teddy couldn't find the words to say. Percy, looking rather exasperated for a moment, gestured towards him.

"This is Teddy Lupin, the Head of the Hit Wizards. The squad was newly reformed by the Minister. Teddy is the son of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, who I'm sure you'll remember, Sir Ulick."

"That clumsy Auror? And the werewolf. Hmm, I do remember," Sir Ulick said, straining his eyes. "I believe they were instrumental in the Battle of Hogwarts. Quite impressive pair, I've been told."

"Told by who?" asked Teddy quickly.

"By the Bloody Baron, of course. He was there, wasn't he? In any case, you have some boots to fill, boy. Get to it."

Teddy, his jaw hanging, found himself nodding.

"Teddy," said Percy, who seemed to be stifling a laugh. "This is Sir Ulick Gamp. You would have studied about him in school. He was the first Minister for Magic, and he founded the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was also Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot in his time."

Teddy gazed with awe at Gamp, who stared back haughtily. He understood the ancient and distinguished air about the wizard now, but with every look that was thrown at him, Teddy began to grasp the depth of his knowledge and power. It felt to Teddy that Gamp knew as much, if not more magical knowledge than anybody alive today. Even though he was quite unintimidating in size, Gamp gave off the distinct impression that he tolerated nothing but the utmost respect from anyone.

"Weasley, I will remain in the Hall of Prophecies and keep watch, but you must know this- you cannot leave this place for too long. Your duty until your death remains here. This is the responsibility you must bear for having access to this knowledge."

Percy regarded Ulick seriously, before nodding.

"I understand, Sir Ulick. I have a plan to come back and…" Percy stopped abruptly, catching his words before they filled the corridor. He regarded Teddy apologetically, and then added, "And comprehend fully what the situation is in _that_ room."

Sir Ulick made the slightest of nods, and amusingly, Teddy felt like he saw the ghost of a smile on the ex-Minister's face. He looked at both men then, all haughtiness replaced by an expression of such grimness that made Teddy feel like he was going to tell them the world as they knew it was ending.

"Change is a rather infectious and refreshing thing," he said, staring into space. "And I am used to it after this many years exploring the world of the living. But when even _I_ am surprised by the changes…I suggest we abandon openness and embrace precaution. Be careful where you tread."

With that, Sir Ulick Gamp floated back into the Hall of Prophecies. He left Percy thoughtful and Teddy still quite shocked by the entire exchange. Ulick's words had a frightening bluntness to them that he could not quite get used to. A small part of him wanted to ask Percy about what the problem was in 'that room', but he could not bring himself to. As if reading his mind, the Head of the Department of Mysteries peered at him through his horn-rimmed spectacles.

"I intend on straightening out my family affairs in the next few days. I'm not sure what's going to happen in the coming weeks, Teddy, but I _will_ come back to the Ministry. Even if it's under attack."

Teddy nodded fiercely.

"And I will escort you in. Even if it's under attack. If your problems are as serious as Sir Ulick made them sound, I want to help."

Percy smiled gratefully at Teddy, before he suddenly frowned as if an idea came to him. He stuck his hand into his pocket, and pulled out something that gleamed brightly. It was a small stone, flat on one side and spherical on the other. Like a Lapis Lazuli, it was a deep shade of blue. Narrow and tapering, it was the length of Teddy's index finger. It weighed as much as a single Ministry memo.

"This is something the employees at the Department of Mysteries carry with them at all times. It's extremely easy to break, and if it breaks, it crumbles to dust, leaving no sign it was there in the first place."

"What is it?" asked Teddy.

"I use it to communicate with the others. If you feel it grow hot, it means we have been infiltrated. But that will not happen as long as I live, I guarantee you. If it grows heavier than normal in your pocket, that's my signal. That means we regroup here, at the Ministry."

Teddy nodded.

"Won't the other Unspeakables feel the same thing?"

"Once the evacuation plan began, I had each of them shatter their stone. Protocol dictates that they know nothing of the Department for the next few months, to protect the information that they already hold. The Unspeakables will be, hopefully by now, far away in other countries."

"Understood," said Teddy. The two men lapsed into silence, walking to the elevator without saying another word. The two ex-Head Boys of Hogwarts were buzzing with thoughts, each worrying endlessly, strategizing as they thought. They both wondered at the back of their minds when the day they would need to return to the Department of Mysteries would be.


	15. Chapter 14: Talons and Fangs

**Chapter 14: Talons and Fangs**

The clatter of knives and forks complimented the buzz of conversation filling the Great Hall. The bewitched ceiling above was a rich glowing yellow and orange, and stripes of sunshine lay bare on the House tables. The Weasleys and Potters occupied a large chunk of the table; ever since the new term had begun, the Hall had become more full than usual, even at breakfast. After Professor McGonagall's speech to them on the day they returned to Hogwarts, students began wandering between classes less, and always appeared at breakfast, almost waiting to hear something interesting again. McGonagall had been calm, but her words were serious, revealing that the school was under a minor level of Auror protection, just as a precaution. The Headmistress herself did not seem especially worried, but she perhaps might have been if she realized how curious for dangerous details the students of Hogwarts _really_ were. This bright morning, McGonagall did not give them a speech, walking into the Hall and seating herself swiftly. As they stared at her, hoping even then, she smiled excitedly as she clapped her hands, causing food to appear on the many empty platters taking up space on tables. Professor McGonagall, it seemed, was as happy as the students that today, Sunday, was a Hogsmeade day after the Quidditch match. But a low groan of disappointment emanated from many of the students, and they turned their attention reluctantly to their meals.

James took a deep breath of air through his nose, smiling as the smells of buttered toast, sizzling bacon, and pumpkin juice went through him. He dove straight in, tossing bull's eyes on to his plate with astonishing accuracy. In a matter of seconds, his plate, clean and white moments ago, was burdened by a miniature hill of mashed potatoes, gleaming sausages, bacon dipped in sauce, eggs, four golden- brown pieces of toast, and a generous helping of steamed vegetables darkened by a sprinkling of pepper. Looking rather unnerved by this maniacal speed, Francis Longbottom stretched to spear a roast potato with his fork.

"You'd think _you_ were playing the match today," he said, shaking his head at James, who completely ignored him in his feeding frenzy. James would have disagreed, but his mouth was too full to tell Francis that Quidditch players usually _didn't_ eat much before their matches.

"Forget him, what's gotten into Lucio? I know I don't understand Quidditch, but he isn't this tense playing against _James,_ " said Alice, piling cornflakes and fruits into her bowl.

She glanced over at the Slytherin table, where Lucio Zabini sat with their back to them. He had his elbows resting on the table, and his chin rested on his fists. He was unmoving, as still as a statue. His plate remained empty. He was dressed in the silver and green robes of the Slytherin Quidditch Team. Scattered around the Slytherin table, the Quidditch Team seemed collectively grim. Out of the seven players, only four were present for breakfast that day. As the students around them ate with gusto, two of the players rose from the table, leaving the Hall with marked frowns on their faces.

James swallowed his food, taking a deep swig from his goblet of pumpkin juice. He eyed the Ravenclaw team, tilting his head to his friends. He pointed openly with his fork at the cluster of students in Quidditch uniforms- the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team, whose members were eating their breakfasts as if it had been a normal day, gesturing to each other as they talked. The Captain, a tall, lean Seventh Year named Quinn Finnigan, had even more on his plate than James. He didn't speak to his teammates, focusing on forking as much food into his mouth as he could. They spoke over him, and though he couldn't hear a word, he knew enough to know they weren't discussing anything serious.

"You don't remember?" asked James, frowning at Francis and Alice. When they shook their heads, he sighed with narrow eyes, and gestured towards Finnigan.

"Quidditch is a wizarding sport," he said slowly, enunciating every word carefully. "Played on broomsticks."

He tried to dodge a well-aimed hit from Alice, and failing to do so, found his sight momentarily obstructed as _The Daily Prophet_ smacked into his face. Sniggering, he continued, rubbing his nose.

"Finnigan is a monster. His entire team is ridiculous. We lost the Cup to them last year; and I've already lost to him once this year."

"What was the score?" asked Francis in a hushed voice.

"The Ravenclaw Chasers are tactically brilliant. The moment the whistle blows, they have the Quaffle. They score, and they keep scoring. It was a _very_ cloudy day, and their Seeker, the tiny one over there, kept me busy enough, and then they were up one-eighty to thirty. When I caught the Snitch, it was after the most difficult chase I've been on. I knew I'd never catch it once it started raining. We lost two hundred and forty to one hundred and eighty."

"And the worst part is that you can't score when Finnigan's Keeper," finished James dramatically, promptly realigning his gaze to his breakfast.

"Do you think Lucio can win?" asked Alice.

"He's the better Seeker in the air, and the day does seem very clear today…but that's not the problem. As far as he's told me, he's had to find new players. Two of them, and I don't know which positions. I know by experience that anyone playing their first Quidditch match can't avoid the nerves. I can't call this one."

James watched Lucio as he sat, still quite stationary. Suddenly, the black haired boy turned as a slim girl in Quidditch gear, her sleek hair covering her face, rose from the Slytherin table and walked past him, saying something. He nodded in reply before turning again. James found his eyes following the girl, and only regained his composure once he realized Francis was following his gaze.

"Can you beat Finnigan?" he asked.

After a great deal of thought in the space of a few seconds, James nodded. He instinctively turned towards the Slytherin table, though his mind was not on Lucio. Who was that new player?

"James, the match is about to start, shouldn't you get these up to Trelawney?" asked Alice, gesturing towards the table. With a start, James realized he hadn't remembered his task at all. He hadn't even noticed the stack of assignments sitting to his side- with all the food in front of him, he had eyes for nothing else. Mourning like a dying animal, he rose from the bench, grabbing the assignments viciously and tucking them under his arm. With a grumpy expression on his face, he trudged towards the Slytherin table.

He placed a hand on Lucio's shoulder, and the Slytherin Captain turned so fast his neck made a loud disapparating noise. The pair frowned at each other for a few seconds, before they nodded like they understood one another. As James left the hall for the North Tower, he smiled. Quinn Finnigan was not in the running for the cup at all, he concluded with eyes gleaming- it would be a Slytherin or Gryffindor Captain that lifted that trophy. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lucio Zabini finally leave his seat for the Quidditch pitch. But truth be told, he was still a little edgy- the Ravenclaw team's unshakable confidence in themselves was a dangerous pressure to behold.

After several moments grimly walking, James began to strenuously climb up the North Tower's spiral staircase that led into Divination. He frowned irritably at his luck, and found himself blaming his father. For Professor Sybill Trelawney, there was no greater honor to have Harry Potter's oldest son in her class. She marked him out as her favorite rather quickly, though predicting his death _had_ been a strange way to show it. As a result of this, Trelawney made sure it was James that did most of the class work, including collecting assignments and delivering it to her office. His essay on Xylomancy must've been somewhere in the lower reaches of the stack he held, and he hoped he would scrape a pass mark.

An odd scent floated from the open trapdoor at the end of the stairwell. When he pushed through the trapdoor, he could barely see a thing. Thick white smoke floated around the classroom, making him feel very heady. Low notes of music played from a gramophone hidden in the clouds. The comfortable sofa set Trelawney kept in one corner of the room was unoccupied. Shaking his head at the strangeness of the woman, he resolved to place the assignments on one of the tables and run as quickly as he could to the Quidditch pitch.

He heard a shuffling sound coming from somewhere around him, and in his curiosity, he momentarily ignored his urgency to leave. The Xylomancy essays forgotten in the classroom, he strained his ears. He could hear voices, or _a_ voice. Gingerly making his way in between the small circular tables, he realized there was a hidden door in the wall. He had never seen it before, and he assumed it must have been Sybill Trelawney's private quarters. Much of the smoke issued from this slightly open door, though it did not smell like anything was burning; he wouldn't put it past Trelawney to leave something on the stove and forget entirely. He pushed past the door.

"Professor?"

There was no answer. The drawn curtains were thick and navy colored, allowing only small dust-filled beams of light to filter into the room. He stepped over a number of broken teacups on the ground, pulling the curtains apart, blinking as light illuminated the room.

A smoldering ash tray sat on a low square table by the window, and beside it, a teacup that was afire with bright green flames. Copious amounts of smoke drifted from the fire. James extinguished the ash tray with a wave of his wand and a wordless spell. Fresh air entered the room, and he took a deep breath, only to cough vigorously. As he recovered from the fit, a bony hand grabbed him from behind, its fingers clenching into his skin. Yelping in pain, James turned around, his wand ready to assault whoever dared surprise him like this. But when he saw Sybill Trelawney, he could only attempt to back away in fear. He could not move; her vice grip was relentless. Her eyes were bloodshot and huge, and her spectacles were clenched in her other hand. Beads of sweat had gathered on her face, dripping down to the floor and her robes. When she spoke, it was as if another had possessed her body, because the voice James heard was unlike any he had heard in the confines of the Divination classroom. She seemed twenty years older, ancient, dangerous, and mystical. As she stared, her unfocused eyes struggled to look at him.

" _It has already begun,"_ she suddenly croaked, the sound of her voice engulfing James and making him immobile. Though the words felt like whispers, each hit him with the force of a yell. " _The lines have disappeared, and death is alive. It sits behind the veil, and only invisible blood can whet what noble blood can find. The flood will begin today with broken stone and salt water, and the dam will be broken by claws and fangs."_

Stunned, James watched as Trelawney doubled over, retched, and collapsed in a heap onto him. Speechless, he lowered her to the ground very slowly, struggling to maintain balance when his legs shook like the Whomping Willow in a storm. Terrified, he checked her pulse, finding that she was still quite alive.

He sprinted out of the room, hurting himself as his hips were accosted by tables he thought were further away in the smoke. By the time his heart stopped beating uncontrollably, he was already at the bottom of the North Tower. Lucio's match pushed to the recesses of his mind, he sank onto the first step of the staircase, cradling his head in his hands. He was shivering in shock, and for a reason he couldn't understand, he felt like he was about to collapse into tears. He clenched his fists as hard as he could, trying to push back the flow. The shock of Trelawney's unexpected aggression had rendered him useless- he could barely stand. He was frightened of everything around him, and the silence of the empty castle was the only thing that kept him from running to the Gryffindor Common Room's fire to talk to his father. He had not understood a word of what she had said. What had begun? What lines had disappeared? And how could death be _alive?_

"The flood will begin today," he repeated, his voice shaking uncontrollably. His own sound was suddenly unfamiliar to him- when had his voice become so hoarse, so weak, and so frightful? He hid his face, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth. Now, the tears flowed from his eyes with no obstruction. He allowed them to travel down to splash softly onto the floor.

"James?"

He heard a pair of running footsteps approach him. Relieved that the voice was familiar, he found himself unable to lift his head.

"James!"

He heard someone sit beside him. A soft, warm hand grasped his, and he looked up to see Dominique Weasley looking at him, her usually inexpressive face distraught and concerned. Her book lay discarded on the ground, and a crimson Gryffindor scarf was wrapped around her neck. Seeing his cousin made James abandon the self-control he was trying to instill in himself.

Had somebody, by chance, turned the corner and seen the bottom of the North Tower's staircase, they would have seen a peculiar sight indeed- a weeping, shaking James Potter, and Dominique Weasley cradling his head in her hands as she held him. Her beautiful face riddled with confusion and worry, she could only hold James as tightly as she could while he cried. The moment did not last for more than a few minutes, but she realized that she had never seen her cousin in such a vulnerable state. In fact, she wondered if he had _ever_ beenin this state at all. Questions came to her lips, but she kept them in, resolving to ask him later. Finally, he stopped shaking, and he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, breathing hard. The pair sat on the steps for a few seconds, unspeaking, until Dominique picked up her book from the floor.

"The match is about to start," she said in a low voice, standing up and extending her hand. James nodded as she helped him to his feet.

The Gryffindor podium was a roar of noise, and it helped James adjust to being out in the open again, where he was James Potter, Harry Potter's oldest son. Keeping his chin up, he found seats at the top. He could spot his friends below- where they usually sat- but he remained with Dominique, feeling a bit more himself when he was with his cousin. He noticed that she kept stealing glances at him out of concern, and somehow, that filled him with comfort. Much of Gryffindor house had decked themselves up with green banners and Slytherin symbols. James found himself grinning at the sight- he wondered how shocked his father would have been to see red and green come together like this. It seemed that the entire house had come to terms with the relationship between the Slytherin and Gryffindor Captains, knowing that in his heart, James was cheering for Lucio. The crowd seemed to also dearly want a final, season-ending match between the Lion and the Serpent to determine the Quidditch Cup.

As soon as James sat down, the players walked out onto the pitch to a tumultuous wave of cheers. Quinn Finnigan, tall and lean, walked with his head high, as did the team following in his wake. He walked with the air of a man who knew he was going to win, regardless of the circumstances. The clear skies above him glowed in a beautiful, powder blue, but Finnigan didn't seem to care. Perhaps, James thought, Finnigan had already comprehended how much easier it would be for Lucio to end the game. He smiled to himself- from where he sat, the Ravenclaw Captain's strategy was as clear as the sky. He hoped that Lucio had understood this as well as he did. No Quidditch player had control over the weather, and Finnigan must have known that very well, and abandoned all strategies to cage Lucio Zabini. His calm and collected behavior at breakfast that morning made complete sense; revealing a sense of utmost confidence to Lucio was an intelligent move, possibly unnerving the Slytherin Captain so much that his skills dipped colossally when in the air. Maybe Lucio hadn't realized it yet, but the game was his to lose. If he so much as let Finnigan under his skin even slightly, he would be too unhinged to play his best. At this point, James wished he could have discussed this with him before the match began.

But all his fears dissipated as he observed Lucio. The sunny sky had plastered a pleasant smile onto Zabini's lips, and it almost seemed like the opposing Captain was _James,_ and not Quinn Finnigan of Ravenclaw. As the Slytherin Team followed their Captain, James found his eyes widening in surprise. At the far end of the line, there were two unfamiliar figures. The first, James could not tear his eyes from, for it was the green-clad girl he had seen in the Great Hall. Her face, he noticed, was incredibly beautiful, with long, slanting eyes that glittered from afar, and high cheekbones that made her seem like royalty. Her porcelain skin gleamed in the sunlight. A _Firebolt_ was grasped in her hand. Behind her (James did a double-take), was a short blond boy with features as strong as the girl in front of him, though he was much shorter. Scorpius Malfoy, holding a brand new broom, walked nervously onto the pitch. James grinned to himself; this was _exactly_ the sort of entertainment he craved after that horrifying and one-sided conversation with Sybill Trelawney.

"…And Captain Zabini's got a couple of new faces in the list today," came a rather familiar voice from the staff podium. James laughed when he realized that McGonagall had Rose Weasley in the commentary box- her melodic voice and animated tones were hilarious when blared across the expanse of the stadium.

"Two new chasers- fourth year Scorpius Malfoy, and fifth year Nuo Davies! One wonders if Zabini's gamble will pay off, ladies and gentleman, one wonders…but it is rather surprising to _not_ see Lucio Zabini's team filled with his girlfriends, one must note!"

"WEASLEY, COMMENT ON THE MATCH AND NOT SCHOOL GOSSIP, IF YOU MUST!" came Professor McGonagall's yell from the top of the stand. The crowd roared with laughter, and James could see Lucio throw a frustrated look at Rose, who sniggered lightheartedly, apologizing quickly to the Headmistress before turning back to the microphone. There came a loud blow of the whistle, and Rose came alive yet again.

"Richards with the Quaffle, passes to Peron, Peron skits through Davies easily, it's Richards with the Quaffle again, can he put it past Rosemary, YES HE DOES! Ten to nothing to Ravenclaw, and the onslaught has begun!"

James watched, in anguish, as Rose's words came true. The onslaught had indeed begun. Slytherin had no time on the Quaffle, only able to watch it zip past them and through their hoop. The score jumped from ten to nothing to thirty to nothing within seconds. Lucio, seemingly unaware, circled high above. The Ravenclaw Seeker followed him thoughtlessly, like a rat chasing its own tail. James clenched his fists, realizing how hopeless it all was. Somehow, Ravenclaw's Chasers had become _faster,_ and worse, even more precise. He didn't even know if _Rose_ could save some of those. The final nail in the coffin, James realized, was that even if Slytherin _did_ get possession of the Quaffle, getting it past Quinn Finnigan was another thing altogether.

Scaring the entire stadium, Rose gasped. Richards of Ravenclaw had attempted a beautiful pass all the way from his goal, and had it reached Peron, the score would have been at hundred to nothing. The Quaffle, traveling at top speed towards Peron, had abruptly disappeared. A silver and green blur now rocketed towards the Ravenclaw goal. The figure almost melted between the opposing team, wriggling through them even at top speed. Plastered to the front of his broom, with the Quaffle in his right hand, Scorpius Malfoy now only had Quinn Finnigan between him and the goal. The entire stadium watched in tense anticipation, and James leaned forward, hoping that Finnigan didn't crush young Scorpius with his aggression. The crowd held its collective breath.

Scorpius did not slow his momentum, still careening forward like a spell finding its target. Most Chasers, James knew, slowed down slightly before making a shot, but Scorpius did no such thing. His velocity carried him towards Finnigan like lightning, and the Ravenclaw Keeper had already readied himself for a dive. Finnigan swerved to his left, his deft fingers reaching, but to no avail. The Quaffle soared past him and through the hoop, and the Slytherin and Gryffindor stands erupted. Raising his fist triumphantly into the air, Scorpius Malfoy zoomed back into position beside Nuo Davies. James noted, at that moment, that even Davies seemed to be at ease after watching her teammate take on the entire opposition team and _win._

James couldn't help but grin as he watched Finnigan float in the air, suddenly furious. The Ravenclaw Captain's confidence had crumbled in seconds, and James began to understand Lucio's easy smile as he had walked onto the pitch. What had occurred in the initial seconds of the match had been entirely erased, for Ravenclaw's Chasers did not know how to handle young Scorpius Malfoy and Nuo Davies. The fifth year girl was frighteningly, as fast as Scorpius, and the pair passed the Quaffle around like a beach ball, charging straight through enemy lines like a knife cleaved through melting butter.

"Davies with the Quaffle, she zips through Peron, oh that's a bad Bludger there, but she avoids it, oh that was beautiful!" exclaimed Rose on the microphone.

Scorpius, from the Slytherin goal, had cut through a Ravenclaw Chaser and passed the Quaffle to Davies, who James could not tear his gaze from. He watched as her lithe frame seemed to combine with the _Firebolt_ beneath her. The Bludger had come at her unawares, and James had found himself standing up, his arm itching to reach for his wand- anything to keep the dangerous ball from her. But he had not needed to, for what he saw next made him forget to breathe. Davies' broom suddenly dropped, as if some force had taken a hold of it, and the broom could no longer fly. She lowered herself to a dangerous height before her arm whipped back in a blur. The Quaffle floated above her head as she suddenly leapt onto the narrow shaft of her broom, standing fully erect as she slammed the Quaffle towards Finnigan, who could only watch as it disappeared through a hoop. The Bludger, so threatening a second ago, zoomed harmlessly past.

"Beautiful…" repeated James, his eyes gleaming as he watched Nuo Davies pull away to a crash of applause. He noticed Dominique laughing as softly as she could as she watched him.

"What was that move?" she asked.

"It's called the Dionysus Dive, I've never seen it being used in an actual match…" said James, his voice almost wistful as he watched Davies fly back towards her goal.

"And it's finally a hundred to ninety, Slytherin in the lead! BRILLIANT!" yelled Rose Weasley from the stands.

It became evident very quickly that Finnigan and his team could not counter the unexpected prowess of the new Slytherin Chasers, however hard they tried. No strategy seemed to work against two of the most unorthodox players James had ever watched. In many ways, he was reminded of tapes he had seen of his mother, when she had still been Ginny Weasley, where she scored goal after goal with what seemed to be an absolute lack of effort. Suddenly, Dominique grabbed his arm, shaking him. It seemed that while he had been stuck on Nuo Davies, his cousin had had eyes for another player.

"OH!" screamed Rose. "ZABINI HAS SEEN THE SNITCH!"

Indeed, Lucio had abandoned his high circling, and was now plummeting ridiculously fast towards the ground, the Ravenclaw Seeker trailing behind hopelessly. James watched carefully, wondering if his friend was attempting the Wronski Feint, and hoping he didn't- for the Wronski Feint could only be performed when the opposing Seeker had as much of a drive to catch the Snitch as you did.

"If you try it, make sure the other Seeker's following your every move. There's no point unless you trick him into a dive he can't pull out of. But if he's cautious, and not as desperate for the Snitch as you are, you might as well stop trying," Harry Potter had told him, one cold morning as they flew together over Godric's Hollow.

Lucio's body was almost perpendicular to the ground now; he hurtled vertically downward like a spear. Dominique's fingernails cut into James' forearm viciously, because it must have seemed to everyone watching that Lucio was about to crash- for how did one pull out of _that?_ And then James saw it- a glitter of gold shining a few feet above the ground. The crowd, as one, covered their eyes in horror, for Lucio had not slowed his pace at all, just as Scorpius Malfoy had refrained from doing so moments ago. Dominique and James alone stood watching with rapt attention, the Weasley girl still holding onto James like she tried to break his arm off. He had no time to register how odd this unexpected flood of concern was, because at that moment, he felt immense relief and admiration, for Lucio suddenly came to a frighteningly abrupt stop, his feet dangling inches from the grass. In a clenched fist raised high above him, the struggling wings of the Golden Snitch were minutely visible.

"AND HE'S DONE IT! SLYTHERIN WIN, TWO FIFTY TO NINETY, WITH A RIDICULOUS DIVE FROM THEIR CAPTAIN!"

Beside herself in excitement, Rose was now screaming into the microphone, forgetting that it hurled her voice all over the stadium. The noise coming from the Slytherin stands was several decibels higher still, as the entire Slytherin team, led by Scorpius and Nuo Davies, rushed towards their Captain in triumph. James and Dominique had forgotten themselves completely, cheering as loud as the Slytherins. As they screamed themselves hoarse, James saw Lucio and his team turn in wonder, before a look of recognition flashed onto his face; no one else would cheer another house on like James did for Slytherin. He saw Lucio's eyes, even from so far away, flicker to the figure sitting beside him. James found it difficult, even then, to stop looking at Nuo Davies, who, in her celebration, had no time for his cheering.

The stand crowded with the Hogwarts staff and parents was as loud in their applause as he was with his voice. McGonagall and the other teachers had risen to their feet to appreciate the brilliant match. James felt so many things within him that he could not understand his own emotions. On one hand, he was tremendously proud of his best friend; watching him turn that apparently irreversible dive of death into a game-ending moment was an incredible feeling, and seeing his Hogwarts Professors with smiles on their faces made him feel like he would miss every second of his school life. He was eager to take to the skies again; he and Lucio would make for a worthy Quidditch final. There were only two matches remaining, and one house had been eliminated by Gryffindor- Hufflepuff. He was excited to play Quinn Finnigan once again, to prove that just like Lucio, he was better- he would not forgive Ravenclaw for defeating him. More than all these feelings, James was astonished to find himself feeling rather strangely towards a member of Lucio's Quidditch team. He had never seen her before, but she had been just a class below him. He, unfortunately, barely knew any fifth years beyond the ones in his team.

Soon, they were carried away by the tide of students leaving the stands. James and Dominique extracted themselves from the crowd, making their way to the entrance at the back of the castle. The open spaces made infamous by Dolores Umbridge's sacking of Sybill Trelawney in the 1995-1996 schooling year had been expanded by an enthusiastic Professor McGonagall. Most of the older students preferred spending their time on the benches and alcoves scattered around the area, and numerous nooks and crannies of Hogwarts had flourished in their presence. It led into a clearing within the castle that was open to the elements, a large square grassy space that students used. Recently, it had become a regular sight to see the Muggle-born students teaching the others how to play football, an extremely entertaining sport to the children raised in wizarding households. At this point, it was empty of football players, and filled with members of the Slytherin Quidditch team, milling around, removing their equipment and stowing it away, polishing their brooms, some laughing as they spoke to one another. Some of them had begun to leave, for the day had become far colder than when it had begun. James and Dominique realized that they were the only ones actually dressed for the weather- Quidditch robes hardly protected you from Bludgers, let alone the cold.

James spotted Nuo Davies at the very back of the group, hoisting a bag onto her shoulders. Before she twisted around, there was a slight moment when he caught her eye. Their gazes lingered on each other in that instant, and then she had turned and disappeared. James could have sworn he saw a smile before he could no longer see her. He turned to see Lucio walking towards him, frowning, as if he had followed James' line of sight. Lucio smirked, and then laughed, nodding at James, who turned away in embarrassment. Suddenly, Dominique tugged on her Gryffindor scarf, pulling it into her hands. She made a delicate step forward before she wrapped it around Lucio's neck, tucking it in under his chin.

"Congratulations, that was brilliant," she said, and for the first time in his life, James saw Lucio Zabini blush. His cheeks turned bright red, and he didn't seem to know what to do with himself.

"Thank you," he mumbled in reply.

At this point, James was struggling to not laugh. It had been his unfortunate privilege to watch Lucio woo the female students at Hogwarts for three years now. And in truth, he had never seen him fail to succeed. He had thoroughly earned his reputation, James felt. But now, all of a sudden, Lucio was a bundle of nerves, unable to speak. His usual smooth repertoire had evaded him, and the students around them could see, staring curiously at their suddenly silent Captain. Some of them laughed openly as they got to their feet, and Lucio was now an absolutely appalling shade of beetroot. Dominique began laughing louder than James ever thought she could, but she seemed to be more amused than hysterical. James joined in, regardless of the loathsome looks Lucio began to give him.

"Go get changed. We'll wait," said James, finally regaining control.

Lucio nodded, and joined his Slytherin teammates as they went down into the dungeons. As James watched him walk away, he felt the yearning need to speak to him alone, and tell him what had happened with Trelawney. But after watching what seemed to be a permanent grin form on his face after Dominique congratulated him, James resolved not to spoil his best friend's day. There was also a tiny part of James that didn't intend on telling anyone in the first place, a thought in the back of his mind that told him that no one should know what Sybill Trelawney had uttered to him in the privacy of her room.

While the Second Years and First Years stayed in the castle, the rest of the school began making their way to Hogsmeade. Clusters of students, wrapped in all manner of scarves, jackets, and sweaters, wandered into the beautiful village, excited to see it after so long. Most of the students gave in to the frigid temperature, following the rich smells of Butterbeer. In the past few years, a great number of pubs and coffee shops had opened up; after the death of Lord Voldemort, the village of Hogsmeade had expanded greatly. But on this celebratory day, many of the Gryffindors wound up at _The Three Broomsticks._ Madam Rosmerta had known most of their parents, and always saved a table for James and the others. His father had told an old story of how he and Albus Dumbledore had returned to the castle on the night the latter died, and it was Rosmerta that loaned them brooms to get to Hogwarts in time for the Battle of the Astronomy Tower.

The crowd that occupied the pub that afternoon was a smattering of different students and adults. A set of seven or eight stairs led to an elevated platform which reminded James much of Trelawney's hidden room in the North Tower of the castle. Wizards dressed in clothes that seemed to come from all over the world puffed on elegant pipes that issued magical coils of smoke that shimmered as they took on strange shapes. As usual, Rosmerta flitted between tables, precariously balancing trays of all sorts of drinks in the palm of her hand. A notebook followed her around, with a vivid violet plumed quill jotting down orders as they were called out. Huddling in their jackets and coats, with numerous scarves wrapped around their necks (Lucio had Dominique's Gryffindor one still wound around him), the Hogwarts students at _The Three Broomsticks_ were vastly outnumbered.

"Have you ever seen this many people at Hogsmeade at once?" asked Albus, leaning over to his older brother from his table. Nestled comfortably on sunshine yellow poufs, Albus, Scorpius, Rose, and two fourth year girls James didn't know had been playing a rapid game of Exploding Snap. He shook his head.

The Exploding Snap game was hardly the noisiest table in the pub, James admitted as he looked around at the conversing occupants. At the far side of the room, he spotted Nuo Davies with her friends; thankfully, in the crowd, it would have been impossible for her to spot him from her angle. He looked back at his friends before either of them could notice him staring, but Lucio and Dominique were already discussing the Quidditch match. She was asking him questions and he was, shyly, answering as best he could. James noticed with some amusement that with every word, Lucio seemed to grow braver, and soon his hands were gesticulating like they normally did. Rosmerta appeared, and with a flash of a smile, and a ruffle of his hair, she deposited three steaming tankards of Butterbeer onto the table, disappearing as fast. Resting his head on the back of his chair, James leaned back nonchalantly, feeling incredibly relaxed.

A part of him still wanted to attend his classes. He was excited to take in as much of the school as he possibly could, but Quidditch was a cut above everything else. The best part was that most of the Hogwarts Professors had abandoned their regular professional routines, teaching classes with much less gusto, and giving them next to no homework. Francis had found it incredibly suspicious considering their next year was _NEWT_ year, but if you had a sound head, you would see that the staff was watching _The Daily Prophet_ very carefully. The Ministry was in the papers every day, with some new discovery or shocking interview piece leading the charge. Civilians were coming out for their moment of fame by badmouthing Kingsley Shacklebolt and calling out warnings. Much of the news being reported was utter nonsense, and James knew better than to believe in it. Unfortunately, some _did_ \- more than a few students had been pulled out of the school by their parents. There hadn't been many, but there were enough absences to be felt.

Leaning back in his comfortable chair, he closed his eyes, listening to the bursts of conversation around him. He couldn't hear what Lucio and Dominique were saying to each other, but he could hear familiar voices. On the raised platform, and occupying a fair amount of space, were a group of wizards James had seen in his home more than once. There were four of them, all wearing simple black robes and staring at the copies of what seemed to be _The Quibbler_ in front of them. James recognized three of them to be Aurors in his father's employ. The fourth was difficult to see, and he didn't seem to speak at all. His long hair covered his face from where James was sitting, and it was a shocking, electric blue, impossible to not notice.

He could barely hear full sentences; James could tell that the Aurors weren't very talkative. He remembered McGonagall's words on the day they resumed term, but he hadn't expected to see the detectives out in the open. It seemed rather strange for them to sit so casually in a pub like _The Three Broomsticks_ when Rita Skeeter was in the midst of a mass defamation of the entire Auror department, starting with Harry James Potter. He had heard the gist of it from Alice- the new face of the Auror Department was an ex-Death Eater. He had not known what to say when it happened, though the lasting words his father left him with before he went back to school had made it clear that _something_ was about to happen in the Ministry.

The day Draco Malfoy's gaunt face had appeared in _The Daily Prophet,_ along with a few scathing comments from Rita, Scorpius had turned quieter and quieter. When he wasn't in class, Lucio had a keen eye on him, but when he _was_ in class, James assumed he spent every moment with Albus. James had, after much thought, warned his younger brother of the backlash young Scorpius might receive from the students who championed his father's arrest. James found himself a fair target for gossip as well; he couldn't avoid it. The only lucky part about being him was that none of the students had the gall to taunt him directly, but he heard whispers all around him, about how "Harry Potter had handed the reins to a criminal, what was he thinking?" and so on. Scorpius did not have that luxury, but, James thought with satisfaction, Scorpius knew how to defend himself better than anyone he knew.

He wondered if the Aurors sitting in _The Three Broomsticks_ felt negatively about Draco Malfoy's presence in their Department. It seemed, that while the rest of the wizarding world panicked, the Aurors calmly let matters proceed. It looked to him like they had full trust in his father- that they were absolutely sure he knew what he was doing. Regardless, James hated being the one everyone was whispering about. He had found himself gradually withdrawing from the Gryffindor Common Room. Everyone seemed to be talking about one thing and one thing only- the Ministry and how it was falling apart. Spending most of his time curled up with one of Dominique's books, or practicing spells against the wooden walls of the Shrieking Shack with Lucio, James was filled with a sense of relief to see his father's Aurors loitering in _The Three Broomsticks._

The rest of the day went by in a whirlwind. A group of Slytherin and Gryffindor students had roamed Hogsmeade to create a pool of Galleons that went into Butterbeer, Gillywater, a large array of sweets and cakes from Honeydukes, and strangely enough, a bunch of curious bright red cans some of the Muggleborns had found Aberforth at _The Hog's Head_ selling. Immediately after the group left, James was accosted by several Sixth Years, who persuaded him (quite easily, mind you) to ask Madam Rosmerta to help them smuggle a few bottles of Firewhiskey into Hogwarts. Lucio listened to the plan with a twinkle in his eye, and grinned like he had an idea. When Rosmerta reappeared in the corner of the room, she giggled girlishly before agreeing, proceeding to warn James to not tell his father. She returned most resourcefully with three regular bottles of Butterbeer containing the fiery drink, which Dominique grudgingly hid in her bag.

When night fell, Gryffindor Tower turned gold. Some of the skilled Charms users had enchanted glowing jars filled with flames to float around the Gryffindor landing and the rather mollified Fat Lady. Green ribbons snaked their way up the stairwell, and an emerald Slytherin banner hung in the Gryffindor Common Room. It had never been seen before- but James grinned to see it. In many ways, Green and Red seemed to go together in a strange, wild way. Lucio took a quick trip up Ravenclaw Tower, yelling from outside the door of the Common Room until Quinn Finnigan came out. From what James heard, after much silent shuffling, Finnigan agreed to come to the Gryffindor Common Room that night, and that he would convince his Quidditch players to come as well.

By half past six that evening, Gryffindor Tower was alive with energy. The Hufflepuffs had arrived in a storm, bringing with them a large radio set that suspiciously, worked absolutely fine within the school walls. James knew that most Muggle items didn't work inside Hogwarts (he had so much free time lately that he'd finally read it), but he later found out from the Hufflepuff in question that it had been bought in Knockturn Alley, and the maker had cast a protective charm around the set to prevent magic from interfering with it. The Fat Lady, after much protest, decided to remain open after group after group of Gryffindor students sneaking in members of other houses came through her abode. James was certain that the music could be heard from all the way at the bottom of Gryffindor Tower. But as he walked up the stairwell, he realized the castle seemed empty of anybody but them. When the decision of where to host the party came up, many of the students pointed to Gryffindor because of its sheer distance from Argus Filch's office. The ancient caretaker of Hogwarts had had his office utterly destroyed in the Battle of Hogwarts, and was since then relocated to a new wing. Though he stubbornly did his job, his reach was not very far with his old joints.

McGonagall was a fair way away as well, James had to admit, but he remembered how preoccupied the staff table had been at breakfast. If anything, they had shoveled down their food as fast as humanly possible, and then left the Hall without so much as a word. Hagrid's usual walk down the tables to say hello did not occur, but they had been too preoccupied with the match to realize. James assumed that McGonagall was holed up in her office, possibly with some of the other teachers. He wondered if the Aurors were involved as well, but as he thought of his teachers, he remembered Sybill Trelawney's violently surprising behavior that morning.

As numerous versions of _Weasley's Wild-fire Whiz-bangs_ exploded around and above him, James found himself stretching out on a sofa by the fireplace, and he realized he had unknowingly memorized every word Trelawney had told him inside that smoky room. He muttered the words softly, only so he could hear. They still sounded foreign to him. He looked around at the flashing room, unable to keep his mind on the things unfolding around him. Not far from him, around a small table, sat a group of students from different houses waving bottles of Butterbeer as they talked animatedly. Through the thudding music, James couldn't hear much.

He explored Gryffindor Tower, finding it incredibly impressive how his schoolmates had found every possible corner to turn into a good spot to sit. Even here, he could hear echoes of The Weird Sisters from the enchanted radio. He found Lucio eventually, though he was rather upset with himself for walking in on his best friend snogging his cousin. Fortunately, neither of the pair had noticed James' presence as he continued down the winding staircase. Narrow eyed and feeling very irritated by then, he happened to pass Scorpius and Rose sitting by the window, with Albus sitting by a chair with his knees pulled up. He noted how exceptionally close Scorpius Malfoy was to little Rose Weasley, and then walked off gruffly. He was glad that he didn't have to face these possibilities with Lily. He knew that if he remained in Hogwarts when Lily Luna Potter got herself a boyfriend, he would do his father proud and keep his wand trained on the runt all year.

It was half past eleven, and out of the many students out of bed, only two or three had turned in. It seemed like the occupants of the castle believed that there would be no other occasion to have this much fun. Gryffindor played Ravenclaw in two days, and three days after that, the final would take place between the victors and the Slytherin team. James knew, if anything was an occasion, it was the night after the Quidditch Final. But somewhere in his heart, his father's and McGonagall's warnings stirred, giving him the sad feeling that it was entirely possible that that the final wouldn't take place at all. If the Aurors were already in the castle, he thought, then it would be imminent for Quidditch matches to be ruled out for safety. There always seemed to be a reason- in his third year, Quidditch matches were suspended after the grounds were surprised with an infestation of chimeras.

As the night had worn on, it had grown considerably colder, and Gryffindor Tower almost hosted a startlingly large slumber party. James had to wind his way past a bunch of Ravenclaw students sitting around a candle. The little ones were huddled together, listening with rapt attention as the seniors told a scary story James had never heard before. Clinks of Butterbeer bottles echoed up and down the staircase as he entered the Gryffindor Common Room for what must have been the third time that night. The lanterns had been switched off, and the only sources of illumination were the roaring fire and a cluster of candles. He spotted Dominique and Lucio curled up on a maroon sofa, and beside them, in a large circle, spread the oddest group of people James had ever seen together. Though he was sure that word of Lucio Zabini and Dominique Weasley's sudden connection had already gotten around, he was still mildly surprised by the assortment of people huddling in blankets. He found a beanbag by Lucio's chair to nestle in as he absorbed the group.

The First and Second Year students had long since disappeared into their dormitories, including, James noted, Lily. Albus, Rose, and Scorpius were by the window listening to the conversation. Not far from him hulked Quinn Finnigan, his face grim in the flickering yellow light. Francis and Alice sat across each other in the circle, beside a pair of Slytherin girls James knew to be in their Seventh Year, one of them a Beater. Next to James was Hufflepuff's Quidditch Captain, a calm-looking classmate of his- Colin Creevey. Creevey's father Dennis worked in the Ministry as a Hit Wizard, James remembered, and soon after the term resumed, Colin's usual excited happiness had diminished. Colin had been named, just like James had, after someone close, and someone dead. Colin Creevey the First fell to Voldemort's Death Eaters in the War, his father had told him. Most of the other members of the circle were Prefects, James realized; shiny badges glinted on their chests. Including Francis and Alice from Gryffindor, all the other prefects were present. Most of all, James noticed, everyone in the circle had some connection to the Order of the Phoenix- all of them had parents or brothers that fought in the War. Every person in the circle had their eyes trained on Francis.

"He hasn't told me anything, but I do know that my mother's been receiving some odd guests at the inn. When we went back for the holidays, things were quite different," he was saying.

"Different how?" demanded Colin.

"Everyone's scared there's going to be another explosion, I'll bet," said Quinn Finnigan, leaning forward.

"Did your Dad tell you anything, then?" said Alice, looking at Finnigan, who shook his head woefully.

"His lips are sealed. He was barely at home all through Christmas."

James remembered only then that Quinn Finnigan's father Seamus was an Auror with Harry Potter. If that were still true, then Quinn's father would be as secretive as his.

"Everyone _is_ scared. The word on the street is that the next attack won't just be a fire, it'll be the werewolves. That's why, I assume, our mum was getting things packed for a move," finished Francis, frowning as if he realized something.

"What do you think's going on, James?" asked Lucio from above. All heads turned towards them, and James sighed.

"Apparently the Ministry's not allowed to tell anybody anything this time. New rules. Rita hasn't gotten a single scoop lately, has she?" he said, looking around.

"He told me to be careful, and to be ready for anything," he said softly. Lucio whistled.

"A warning, that's not good," he said.

"I reckon we should panic when McGonagall panics," Quinn said, waving his hand dismissively at the thought of a threat. The group laughed.

"McGonagall panicking? I want to see Filch panic," muttered Scorpius darkly from the other side of the room to amused chortles from the older students. He, along with Rose and Albus, were the only ones in the large group standing. Albus waved to the others, climbing wearily up the staircase to his dormitory.

"Students out of bed!" yelled Rose in a brilliant impression of the old caretaker, even standing up to creakily walk towards them with murder in her eyes. The Ravenclaw prefects laughed till their eyes watered, waving cheerfully to the fourth years as they got up to leave. Unnoticed by the rest of the group apart from James, Scorpius and Rose disappeared out of the portrait hole. He wondered if his little cousin planned on walking Scorpius Malfoy all the way down to the Slytherin Common Room. He reminded himself sternly to check on Rose returning to her dormitory that night. It was then that Lucio reached under his chair, his eyes twinkling, and withdrew three ordinary Butterbeer bottles.

"Prefects, forgive me," he said, uncorking a bottle. Steam hissed into the air. In the closed walls of the large room, the strong smell of spirits and spice filled the air. Some of the prefects laughed, while Francis looked aghast. Conjuring an array of small glasses with his wand, Lucio began to pour out generous measures of Firewhiskey. With a stroke of good sportsmanship, he first offered a glass to Quinn Finnigan.

"To a great match," Lucio said most pompously, taking what was surely too large a swig, for both Captains were spluttering after the sip. Wiping their tears on their sleeves, the boys passed the glasses around.

Soon, much of the group was tottering around. The three small bottles, split haphazardly between the large group, were still sufficient. James felt fiery inside when the whiskey went down, like a raging flame had begun burning in him with the first sip. The conversation around him was nonsensical, but soon it turned hazy for him. Walking unsteadily to the window, he gazed out into the night sky, with its glittering veil of stars.

" _Invisible blood will whet what noble blood can find,"_ he heard Sybill Trelawney whisper in his ear, and he shook his head instinctively, for an odd buzzing had filled it. He remembered a spell that did that, but for some reason, he couldn't remember the word at all…

The horrifying feeling of having Trelawney perched by his shoulder and repeating equally terrifying words made James stand up abruptly. The Prefects had abandoned all facades of responsibility and etiquette, turning into a bumbling, clumsy collection of students unable to speak very well or understand one another. They all but ignored Lucio and Dominique, who were far too busy to speak to James, he gathered after one look at the sofa the pair occupied.

All of a sudden, the Gryffindor Common Room had become claustrophobic. The music thudded in James' ears, and he could barely concentrate on the people around him. He found himself breathing like he had just run a race. As he strode out of the portrait hole, he heard voices calling out to him, and he stopped momentarily, but it took him moments to realize he had no intention of staying any longer. Francis, Alice, Lucio, and Dominique suddenly seemed a far cry from being his friends. His heart still hammering madly, he could not hear their voices without it infuriating him. Without so much as a glance, James took off, swinging the portrait of the Fat Lady closed behind him.

Gryffindor Tower was finally emptied of its numerous occupants, but remnants of celebration were scattered like dust around him- empty bottles, fizzed out fireworks, and a lonely Slytherin scarf extending down several stairs. He felt like he walked inside a dream, for every few steps, the world around him changed. His feet hit black floor, and then he would pass by a window, and would be illuminated by the most beautiful silver strands of moonlight he had ever seen. Splashing across the Hogwarts floor like ghosts, the stained glass windows of the castle transformed them into intricate patterns. James found himself gazing at these moonlight-spun tapestries as he walked, his hands deep in his pockets.

It was not uncommon for him to walk the corridors of Hogwarts. He spent much of his time loitering below the tower of Gryffindor, for when Lucio was cooped up in his dungeon, he had nobody to talk to but Francis- and Francis did not sacrifice his sleep for even the best of his friends. In his first year, he tried it out, exploring the vast castle grounds until he was caught by a pleasantly surprised Rubeus Hagrid. The teachers who had known his father found it rather amusing that James Potter walked around the school like it were his backyard. They spared no effort in punishing him when he was caught, but he was sure they turned a blind eye on his activities more than often. By the time he was in his Fifth Year, and his _O.W.L.S._ kept him bleary-eyed and awake in his dormitory, the Marauders protected his every step. He knew when McGonagall paced under Gryffindor Tower, and he knew when Slughorn took his late night walk to the kitchens. He ruffled in his pockets, grimacing as he realized that the map was carefully stored in his trunk.

He would soon pass by familiar territory- the expansive door leading to the grounds. The long and wide staircase extended on its other side. The tapering stained glass windows shone disfigured light across the floor, and a figure seemed to be pacing back and forth. From the silhouette of his body, James could tell he was no Hogwarts teacher. His wand firmly in his grip, he approached, stopping in shock as the man turned around. Moonlight glistening over his face, Teddy Lupin looked back at James, his wildly blue hair lit up in silver. Teddy, James noted, had his wand in his hand as well, almost as if he had expected an attack…

"You were the one I saw at _The Three Broomsticks_ today. What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be with my Dad?" he asked, the questions falling over each other like ninepins.

Teddy seemed to digest the questions one by one, pursing his lips before shaking his head vaguely.

"Well, technically, no," he said. " _The Prophet_ thinks I'm working from the Ministry. This isn't the Ministry, but no one's really at the Ministry."

"Oh," said James. On one hand, James felt that Teddy seemed older, far older than he was when they met each other last. Growing up, he had seen Remus Lupin's son change time and time again. Being a Metamorphmagus, and a brilliant one at that, Teddy regularly modified his appearance, toying with features of his family he chanced upon in photographs. At some point, when James was in his first year of school, Remus Lupin's eyes had graced the wizarding world again. He eventually stopped changing, keeping his face as it was. And now, the straight, uneven mop atop his head that shone like the blue flames Luna Scamander conjured in Godric's Hollow made Teddy look like an entirely different person. His sea blue eyes matched his hair like they were part of the same flowing fire, but the sea was stormy, like a hurricane sent it into waves of fury. On the other hand, James was extremely surprised to receive a straightforward answer from an adult.

"Didn't expect me to be so honest?" asked Teddy. James nodded, smirking.

"Where's my father?"

Teddy sighed.

"Unfortunately, _that_ I do not know. Why aren't you in your Common Room?"

"Can't sleep," James lied. "Why are there no teachers checking for students out of bed?"

Pausing, Teddy, glanced back at the door of the castle, and James noticed how the bolts had been fastened securely. Did the Ministry think Hogwarts would be attacked?

"There's no lying to you, is there, James?" asked Teddy darkly. "Most of the teachers have been working on securing the outer perimeter of the grounds. McGonagall's meeting the board to keep them from closing the school. Hagrid and Professor Longbottom are in the Forbidden Forest, though for what I have no inkling of. The other teachers aren't allowed out of their quarters at night."

"Who made that rule?"

"I did."

"Ah."

"I also know that most of your year's somewhat busy with the party in the Gryffindor Common Room tonight," said Teddy, frowning as he leaned closer as if to examine James Potter's face. "Where'd you get it from?"

"Get what?" said James, nonplussed at this revelation.

"I think I'd be able to smell Firewhiskey from Hagrid's cabin, James," Teddy explained, a twinkle in his eye.

James blanched, suddenly incapable of speech.

"It's okay, I won't tell Harry. Or Ginny," added Teddy, laughing. "At any rate…your father has enough to worry about."

Teddy's face grew grim and serious again, making James feel much like a child talking to an old man. He seemed to be thinking of evil and dangerous things, things that made his wand hand unconsciously clench. For that reason alone, James suddenly felt like the conversation had concluded. He had an agonizing urge to tell Teddy about Trelawney, but the urge disappeared in his grim mood.

"I'll be alright, won't stay out too late," James murmured as he passed. He saw Teddy nod as he gazed at the door, the wand in his hand still dangerously close to firing spells.

Keeping his own wand at the ready, James walked through the dark corridor, still quite unaware of where he was going. Hogwarts in silence made him walk very slowly, because his shuffling feet sent carrying echoes of whispers around him.

" _Lumos,"_ he said softly, and the tip of his wand blazed with white light.

His path illuminated, James found himself finally on familiar paths. He had been here after Lucio's match, waiting with Dominique as he changed and accompanied them to Hogsmeade. The alcoves were dark tunnels in the night, but the moonlit benches glowed with mystical light. The only sound he could hear was of leaves rustling in the cold wind, and it seemed the perfect opportunity to sit down.

His breath steaming with every exhalation, James extinguished his wand light. The benches were wet with moisture, and through his jeans, his skin stung. His eyes grew accustomed to the low light, and the cool sight of the empty square. He pulled his knees up, hugging them for warmth. It was unnerving, to be sitting so openly and casually where any passer-by could spot him, but he was rooted to his bench. He looked up, quite unbothered by the possibility of being attacked while he sat stargazing. The Firewhiskey still warmed him from the inside, but its disorienting effects had dissipated in the numb frigidity away from the crackling Gryffindor fire.

In retrospect, he had been harsh on his friends. He must have worried the group of four as he disappeared through the portrait hole, but he also wondered if they remembered much of his exit; even in disapproval, Francis, Alice, and Dominique had consumed far more of the steaming drink than he had, and Lucio had determinedly gulped half a bottle. He was convinced that all four of them would be asleep by now, because it felt like he had been walking for hours before he sat down. Even his conversation with Teddy seemed so far away. The whistling wind had a strange effect on James. It filled his ears like Trelawney's announcement had, but it rendered all sounds useless, and soon, he couldn't hear himself think. Had it been another night, he would have questioned how strange the stormy weather was, for he had never heard such vicious winds anywhere but high in the sky. Even then, the whistling did not fill his entire mind like it did tonight. Soft rain began trickling over him, almost like icy pinpricks that burst in miniature explosions as they came in contact with his skin.

James did not expect the appearance of another individual in the square that night. In his silent introspection, his eyes had closed, and his mind had slipped into a beautiful world of dreams, of glorious sailing ships and majestic dragons flying overhead, their scales shining in the light, and he on his _Firebolt_ slicing through the skies under their wings. Shivering in his slumber, he heard the soft sound of wet leaves being stepped on, but his mind did not rise out of its enchanting reverie. Even the pressure of another human being on the bench did not rouse him.

His thoughts had isolated himself from everybody else. He felt like out of every single person he had met that night, not one of them realized the mess they were all in. It must seem safe and secure to be warm within the thick castle walls, but James had heard stories of the Battle of Hogwarts that made him shudder. When his mother had sadly told him of the wreckage the school had been after the war, he had always wondered how the castle looked so solid and reliable, ever since his very first day. After six years, and enough information gleaned from the former members of Dumbledore's Army and the Order of the Phoenix, James knew of spells that could shatter the stones around them like glass. He had seen the Whomping Willow at her savage best, and he knew there were forces around them far more powerful than the stone walls of Hogwarts. So when he sat upon the freezing stone bench, he was absolutely sure that the other students diligently enjoyed their night. He assumed, wrongly, that not a single other person did otherwise.

And so like a statue that quivered in the cold, James did not notice when Nuo Davies quietly sat down beside him. She had watched from a dark and hidden hole as James Potter, holding a lit wand, appeared in the square she had been watching most carefully. She had observed as he pulled his knees up, turning his head to the sky, closing his eyes. She saw him shivering in the rain, and found herself wondering if James Potter had been thinking the same things she had been, for why else was he on his own? The pretty Weasley girl at his side after the Quidditch match was nowhere to be seen.

Her hands moved without thinking. She extracted herself from her cloak and, wrapping it around James, she fastened it at his knees. He continued shivering, but she watched as a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. Without his observant and alert eyes open, she found it was easier to look at him. She had always been frightened of those bright green irises, for as James Potter strode to his seat in the Great Hall every morning and evening, he intimidated most people. When she had tried out for the Slytherin team, she had done it with a moment of hesitancy, knowing that she could face him in the final. If he managed to defeat Quinn Finnigan this week, she realized, she _would._

In the freezing rain, James Potter finally seemed at peace. For once, his brow was not furrowed in tension. Admittedly, Nuo had initially viewed the common expression on his face as an arrogant disdain for those around him. It was a comfortable assumption to make- that Harry Potter's oldest son held himself above the rest. It was an assumption that more than a few Hogwarts students made- that James Potter, the favorite of all the teachers, McGonagall's confidante, was surely more arrogant than talented. But this perspective of the Gryffindor Sixth Year had slowly peeled away as she observed him more. While some of her classmates spoke of him with distaste in their mouths, she had always wondered why James Potter was so…alone. Even though Lucio Zabini accompanied him everywhere, and Alice and Francis Longbottom were his fast friends, Harry Potter's son seemed to always be lost in his own muddled thoughts. The courage to approach him was not the question- the reason to talk to him at all was.

Then one day, she heard the unexpected sound of combat coming from the grassy square. From afar, she saw it happen- five tall, leering Gryffindor girls had begun firing curses at a blond boy in Slytherin robes. He was quieter than she was, but Nuo had always liked young Scorpius Malfoy. He rarely spoke, but when he did, she could understand the frustration he lived with- the frustration of being a child of a former Death Eater. She sprinted to his rescue, her wand drawn, but to no avail, for a terrible explosion stopped the fight immediately. When she peered at the scene from behind a pillar, she watched James Potter standing with a look of fury on his face, his wand smoking and sparking. While Lucio Zabini stood in front of Albus Potter, James had positioned himself in between Scorpius and his attackers. Nuo left the scene as fast as she had run, for Professor McGonagall's booming voice quickly filled the square.

Soon after, she found herself extremely confused. She had heard of the big head on James Potter's shoulders, of his impenetrable sense of justice, and his ambitions of following his father into the Auror Department. She had heard that James Potter's father and Scorpius Malfoy's father were cold-blooded enemies to each other- and even worse, they had a violent past that rivaled no other. The rumor was that at some point, Harry Potter had almost killed Draco Malfoy- within the school grounds no less. She could see it from James' view, to look at Scorpius as the son of a traitor. And yet, he had leapt to his assistance faster than she, a fellow Slytherin had. And now, she saw the Slytherin chaser with James and his gang more than often. Her thought-riddled head was given its final push when Harry Potter named Draco Malfoy as his deputy Head of the Auror Department. She had no idea what to make of all of it- and then _he_ had looked at her after the Quidditch match. There had been those few seconds when their eyes connected, a moment that she found herself unable to turn away from for some unknown reason. Startlingly green eyes captivated her in a flash, forcing a smile that spread across her face as she walked away. She found herself far more confused than she had been in the first place.

Seeing him cross the grass and fall asleep on a bench she had loved to sit on all through her five years at Hogwarts, Nuo Davies could not stop herself from getting close to him. In the dim light, his untidy hair cast canyons of shadows onto his face. She reached out, able to move past the numbness in her fingers, and moved his curls away, exposing his slumbering face to the skies. Drops pattered onto his skin, but he didn't seem to notice. Her cloak around his body had long since become heavy and thick with rainwater. Feeling rather idiotic, Nuo realized that the frigidity had affected her more than she thought, for her clumsy fingers grazed his nose as she withdrew her hand.

Fearing he would wake, Nuo prepared for an incredibly embarrassing situation. But when he did not, she found herself staring, taking in every pore of his skin, from the way dark circles surrounded his eyes to the line of his jaw. She was overcome with an insatiable curiosity to know what he dreamt of. For the first time in her life, she murmured his name out loud.

"James."

She said it again, slowly, as if rolling the name between her lips, as if every time she said it, she lost a part of it. He did not wake, and so she said his name again, this time not softly. But in the whistling, furious wind, she might as well have mouthed it, for she couldn't even hear herself. The sheets of rain cascaded down, thudding onto the bench and the grass like giant footsteps, contributing to the noise that prevented James Potter from hearing her. Eventually, Nuo ceased her attempts, for the day's exhaustion began to weigh very heavily on her. Her throat began to strain, and her breath grew shorter, until she could only watch the rain as it fell over them.

At some point in the night, Nuo Davies closed her eyes. Like James, the cold could not prevent her from drifting to sleep. The two students slept in their uncomfortable positions, their backs pressing against hard stone. When she lost balance and inadvertently fell against James' shoulder, the impact did not rouse him, but her shivering body against his made his eyes open, though not for long.

In the short moments he was awake, he took in the shaking girl next to him, even though he was unable to see her face with her wet hair covering it. He took immediate notice of the cloak around his shoulders, and though, half- asleep, he could hardly move, he managed to unfasten it, and tug it around the both of them. The cloak fell haphazardly on top of the children, and suddenly, there was no rain falling over them, and only the pattering drops on thick material could be heard beneath. Wavering between sleep and wakefulness, their eyelids fluttered open, and underneath the cloak, the pair looked at each other. Neither of them spoke, for there seemed to be no right thing to say, no explanation for the strange place they found themselves together in, no greetings to utter when they could barely keep their eyes open. There was only a mute acceptance that was shared between them. The last thing James saw before he drifted back into his dreams was a pair of eyes glowing very close to him, and the last thing he felt was an odd mixture of cold and hot, of the rain dripping from above, but the burning sensation of Nuo Davies' lips on his.


	16. Chapter 15: The Breakfast Report

**Chapter 15: The Breakfast Report**

"James."

" _James."_

His vision blurry, James opened his eyes halfway. He could see his younger brother's face over him, but the sunlight was far too strong for him to see much more than a dim silhouette. Someone he couldn't see properly stood to Albus' side. Albus had been prodding at him, which explained why his shoulder was so sore. Both Scorpius and Albus wore similar expressions of embarrassment as they stood before the stone bench. Scorpius was poking, extremely gingerly, at the bundled up figure next to James. His fair face was red.

Only when he gently lifted the cloak from his body did James see Nuo Davies' petite form stretched out on the bench, her long hair falling over his legs, and her face in his lap. She breathed softly, ignorant of the morning rays of the sun. Then, James saw why his brother seemed so awkward as he stood there; a crowd of students had gathered around the square, whispering behind their hands and looking at them. He heard some sniggers from the back of the crowd, and immediately blushed, wishing he had not fallen asleep last night. But when he looked down at the girl lying on him, he wished for the night to have never ended. Finally, one of Scorpius' pokes made her eyelids slowly drift open. Confused and unaware of her surroundings, Nuo sat up, facing James, her hands returning her hair to, as much as was possible, its usual position.

She looked at James slowly, and then her eyes widened, and a distinct red hue enveloped her cheeks. When she turned to see the students gawking at her, her jaw dropped, and she tried to rise to her feet very quickly, stumbling before James caught her by the elbow. At this point, Albus and Scorpius had seemingly had enough; he heard them huff in frustration as they left the scene as fast as possible. The eyes of the crowd did not follow them, unfortunately. Fresh rolls of laughter emanated from the group as Nuo momentarily leaned on James for support.

"Clear out, you're supposed to be in the hall!" said old Argus Filch, rounding the corner, his cane thudding in front of him with every step. The students fled the square, and James and Nuo had seconds to react, climbing over the short wall to disappear into one of the corridors.

James realized that he didn't feel as embarrassed as he should have. The sniggers and giggles had seemed rather trivial in the face of the feeling of warmth and happiness filling him up from the inside. Nuo glanced at him, frowning at the smile spreading on his face. He looked back at her unashamedly, and she snorted with laughter, shaking her head. If she _had_ been relatively shocked to wake up like she was in a Muggle zoo, the shock seemed to dissipate as she laughed with him. As they pushed the doors to the Great Hall open, they did nothing to hide their smiles. James felt like nothing could sour his mood, feeling no weight at all even though his wet clothes were heavy with rainwater.

As Nuo Davies and James Potter crossed the Great Hall, and parted ways to go to different tables, the entire room seemed to follow them with their eyes. James heard the hissing noise of some hundred whispers as they unfolded, and he distinctly saw Professor McGonagall with her stern glare on him. He hoped, with fingers crossed, that word of his presence in the square that morning had not reached her as yet. At the rate his schoolmates stared at him, he wouldn't have been surprised if the entire school knew by now. Still, he grinned as he squeezed between Francis and Alice at the Gryffindor table. A chessboard rested on the table, and the former and Lucio had been in the midst of what seemed to be a very serious game. Dominique sat in front of fresh parchment, and a quill was in her hand. At the moment, all of his friends had stopped what they were doing, for they had been watching as Nuo Davies turned to go to her table, noting how her hand grazed his before they separated. More than that, they stared at James' sopping wet clothes. While Prefects Francis and Alice had disapproval in their eyes, James found Lucio staring at him with a smirk. He gathered that news had traveled much faster than he had expected.

"Where were you last night?" demanded Francis in a harsh whisper. James did not answer, pursing his lips. Lucio snorted.

"No more Firewhiskey for you, at any rate," he said, chortling.

"Keep this going, James," cut in Dominique. "And you'll be the new Lucio Zabini."

Almost immediately, Lucio's face turned blank, and half the Gryffindor table laughed. Sheepishly attempting to change the tune of the conversation, Lucio leaned towards James.

"Well? What happened?"

James looked at Lucio, his eyes glancing between his curious face and Dominique's suddenly worried expression. James was suddenly very aware of the students around them; their keen ears were much of the reason nothing was private at Hogwarts.

"Later," he said, as the platters began to fill up with breakfast.

The next few moments left James and most of the school with memories they would try hard to forget. As they heaped food onto their plates, and gulped down pumpkin juice, the sound of many flapping sets of wings could be heard from afar. Hedwig soared through the ceiling window, followed by what seemed to be _all_ the owls that lived in the Owlery. Soon, every Hogwarts table including the staff's was populated with a crowd of flapping, very enthusiastic birds. Many of the creatures had newspapers tied to their tiny legs. Before he could even reach for the paper, he heard a series of gasps erupt from numerous locations across the Great Hall. He turned to the crash of a goblet from the staff table.

Dominique had reached for _The Daily Prophet_ before anyone else at the Gryffindor table, and her open mouth and serious eyes were frozen in surprise. She turned the paper around, displaying its front page to them. Splashed across the top of the page were thick, bold, and frightening words, written like they were to be screamed out instead of read. The headline read "KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT FOUND DEAD IN MINISTRY LOBBY", with a blurry shifting image of the expansive lobby.

In the picture, a large group of Ministry employees stood like statues, watching something in the center of the photograph. Though much of the detail was blurred, James could identify the lightly swaying body of the Minister for Magic as he hung from a long cord that seemed to be attached all the way to the ceiling.

"There's another," said Dominique, in a hushed voice, pointing at an article below the leading piece, on the other side of the folded paper. With his heart beating like a drum, James read it out.

"Mass breakout at Wizarding Prison, Azkaban," he whispered. The entire hall seemed to be hushed, like a horrible coldness had suddenly spread among them. People had begun to read the smaller article with blank faces. Dominique, ignoring the look on James' face, swiftly turned the paper around to the leading piece. By now, a large chunk of the Gryffindor table had eyes glued to Dominique as she began reading.

 _At precisely nine thirty last night at the Ministry of Magic headquarters in Whitehall, London, the body of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, was found hanging from a rope in the central lobby. Eyewitnesses say that the Minister had not been seen for several days before, after an altercation between two Ministry employees, a stray Stunning Spell nulled the effects of a powerful Disillusionment Charm on his body. Reports from the scene say that the late Minister's body was bruised and battered, but photographers and reporters alike were asked to leave immediately, so the details are not clear as of yet._

 _While it is not evident who is behind this gruesome attack on the wizarding world, Senior Correspondent of The Daily Prophet, Xenophilius Lovegood, was present at the press conference held two hours later in Courtroom Ten of the Ministry of Magic. Deputy Head of the Auror Department, Draco Lucius Malfoy, had few words to say on the issue:  
"For now, while the perpetrator of this crime is being located, it has been determined that Hermione Granger will succeed Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister for Magic. As such, I have been instructed by her to give you this information: the wizarding world is on high alert. In a few hours, owls from the Ministry will reach your homes with instructions on how to keep you and your loved ones safe. Last, please remain where you are. Parents with students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry must stay calm and trust in the Aurors that are already in position keeping watch on your children. We serve to protect you."_

 _Both Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were unavailable for a comment on the situation, as the wizarding world had already been rocked by an incident of equal magnitude on the very day. Read more on the mass breakout at Azkaban prison on page 25._

"Read the next one," said James without looking up. Dominique hurriedly unraveled the rest of the newspaper to gain access to the twenty fifth page.

 _Last evening, at half past six, an explosion ripped Azkaban prison apart. Thirty six guards were killed in the process, and it has been reported that out of the four hundred and sixty three prisoners serving their sentences at the high-security facility, only thirty three have been accounted for. It has already been touted as the largest breakout in history, with more than a hundred of the criminals notable and infamous names put behind bars by none other than Harry James Potter, Head of the Auror Department. Potter was unavailable for a comment, but current Minister for Magic, Hermione Granger, was at hand._

" _We urge all families to remain within their homes while we search for the culprits and the escaped prisoners. This is not a time for panic. The escapees will be brought back to Azkaban."_

Underneath this short dialogue was a flashing picture of James' Aunt, her face grim and unforgiving. He could almost hear her say the words, stern and blunt. Rose peered over his shoulder at the picture, her eyes large and worried. Once Dominique folded the newspaper and let it settle on the table, no one seemed to know what to do or say. A heavy silence had set over the students in the Great Hall. James found Professor Longbottom standing askance from the table; he had been listening to Dominique as she read the article. Alice and Francis had not noticed their father's presence, but James took in the shabbiness of Neville Longbottom's clothing, and remembered Teddy telling him the previous night that both Hagrid and the Herbology teacher had been in the Forbidden Forest.

When James looked up at the staff table, he noticed how stiffly the other teachers sat. They observed the students before them; McGonagall, her chin resting on her hands, stared directly at James and his friends. The staff table's spots were entirely occupied, a sight he had rarely seen, except at close-of-term feasts. With a shiver, he realized that even Professor Trelawney had made the tedious trip from her nest atop the North Tower for this breakfast. He assumed that Professor McGonagall had informed the teachers of the incidents at some point during the night. With a start, James realized that Teddy's edgy aggression had been a direct result of the Minister's hanging and the Azkaban breakout. A certain Herbology Professor was staring directly at James, as if waiting for a reaction.

"James," said Neville, rubbing his temple with a tired hand. "Let's go for a walk?"

Still stunned by the contents of _The Daily Prophet,_ James mutely nodded and followed the Herbology Professor out of the Great Hall. Neville stopped directly under the staircase, reaching deep into his robes and withdrawing a hastily wrapped package tied with twine. He handed it to James, who immediately had an inkling of what the package contained.

"Harry asked me to give that to you. It's his Invisibility Cloak. He wanted me to tell you," Neville said, leaning closer. "Hogwarts needs to defend itself when the time comes."

James nodded, smirking as he unraveled the paper wrapping to reveal the shimmering, slippery Invisibility Cloak- the family heirloom.

"For adults, you trust us more than I gave you credit for," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

Neville laughed, nodding like he wasn't surprised at all by James Potter's cheek.

"I think, and I know, that these 'adults' know what they're doing," he said, recovering his breath, his face turning quickly back into a frown. "Harry is very aware of the fact that some of the bravest things he did happened in this school. And the truth is plain. You've seen _The Prophet_ now, you understand where this is going."

James nodded grimly.

"Was it this bad the last War?"

Neville frowned more intensely than ever, sighing.

"It was different. Snape was Headmaster, the Carrows were Death Eaters trying to be teachers, it was hell on earth at Hogwarts. Not like it is right now. Right now, this school is filled with capable witches and wizards, ready to defend their home. Even without the Aurors, the staff is more than capable in defending this school. But…" Neville trailed off, staring off into the dark shadows behind them, leading into the dungeons.

"What would be the point of attacking Hogwarts?" James dared to ask.

"The point?" asked Neville, raising an eyebrow. "Even Lord Voldemort knew the value of magical blood. The value of the next generation of witches and wizards is a big deal to some of us, James. But, the truth is, as long as you, your siblings, and your cousins are here at this school, there is a chance it can be attacked."

James frowned.

"Why is that?"

"Don't misunderstand. What I'm trying to say is that after Kingsley was found, the only conclusion I can come to is that this enemy believes it can destroy the Ministry. And when you fight the Ministry-"

"You fight my parents, Rose's parents, and everybody else's parents," finished James. "You too."

"I can't say I'm a target, frankly, I wasn't an Auror for very long."

"My Mum told me half the cells in Azkaban were occupied because of my dad, you, and my uncle Ron. And now these criminals are out in the open, and nobody knows where," said James slowly. Neville sighed again, before nodding.

"I believe we will find them, though I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing," he said darkly, before straightening his jacket.

"Thank you," said James, motioning with the cloak, now badly rewrapped. Neville nodded.

"Use it well," he said, as they walked towards the Great Hall.

When they re-entered the hall, they found they had walked into a tense, muted scene. The students at the House tables now sat staring at the staff table, their food untouched. Professor McGonagall stood in front of them, her arms clasped before her. James could see the Headmistress's eyebrows knit together in frustration, and he feared the words she would say.

"All students will go to their classes escorted by a staff member, and Professor Hagrid would like me to reiterate an important notice for all of you- the Forbidden Forest is, under no circumstances, a plaything for students to approach. Hogsmeade is, similarly, barred from entry for students," she said curtly, almost like she had said these very things before. James wondered if his father had been in Hogwarts when students had to be escorted to their classes at all times. He found it pleasantly surprising that McGonagall failed to mention Quidditch whatsoever. He crossed his fingers, knowing that the announcement would come- that Quidditch matches for the year were canceled. He watched McGonagall suddenly dip her head and sigh, as if she had become far too old for this mess.

"I would also like you all to know that Hogwarts is not weak. We are powerful when we stand together, this much has always been certain for most of us on the staff table. We will not bow down to the fear of imminent attack. There are Aurors at every possible location of the castle, and Teddy Lupin, the Head of the Hit Wizards, is here personally to oversee the students' protection. Classes will go on as scheduled."

A low groan could be heard from the students listening, though some perked up at the mention of the young Hufflepuff that had been Head Boy.

"The Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw Quidditch match," McGonagall began. James drew in a large breath. "Will be advanced to an earlier date- tomorrow. I make no promises, but it is of my humble opinion that Hogwarts will operate _as it should._ If either of the House Captains deems it unsafe to fly, they may consider their title challenge forfeited."

James and Quinn Finnigan locked eyes across their tables; James could see steely resolve in the Ravenclaw Captain's eyes. He glared at him, as if challenging Gryffindor to forfeit. His mind populated by far more than Quidditch, James avoided his gaze, finding that Dominique and his friends seemed more shaken than he had ever seen them. Subconsciously playing with the bacon on his plate, he wondered if he considered Quidditch as important now, after seeing his friends' doleful expressions. He knew what it meant- that both teams would not have the time to practice, that the match could go in any direction. He found Lucio frowning at him, perhaps wondering why James wasn't happier about Quidditch remaining a part of the school schedule.

He looked over at the Slytherin table, where Nuo stared fixedly at him, her eyes large with concern. She sat at the very edge of the table, and James was painfully aware of the empty spot to her right. He found himself overcome with an insatiable urge to speak to her, even as McGonagall seated herself and began her breakfast. The other students had lethargically returned to their meals, stabbing at potatoes and sausages in absolute misery, though some seemed cheered by the idea of imminent Quidditch matches. Just like Lucio had done on numerous occasions, James rose from his House table and walked briskly over to the table decked with green banners.

Amidst a barrage of stares, he sat down beside Nuo, pulling a plate of sausages towards them. Even though he stared at the plate, he could feel eyes on him. Once the students ceased their unwavering open curiosity, he felt Nuo's fingers intertwine with his under the table, and he felt the sinking feeling in his stomach disappear, though a frighteningly vivid image of a dead Minister for Magic kept returning to him.


	17. Chapter 16: The Woes of Percy Weasley

**Chapter 16: The Woes of Percy Weasley**

Covered by Rubeus Hagrid's vast shadow, Neville and Teddy ventured through the dark trees. Hagrid held his wand, concealed in an umbrella, in one hand, while his other constantly traced the numerous gouges on the wounded tree trunks they passed. Teddy's bright blue hair was more visible than his body, but from time to time, he shone light with his wand onto his surroundings. Both Neville and Hagrid were mute as they walked, as if speaking within the Forbidden Forest was not allowed. It had been Teddy's very first adventure into these trees, and he had been convinced to come by the Herbology Professor walking in front of him.

"What is it you wanted to show me?" asked Teddy, stepping over what seemed to be a freshly felled tree. Both Hagrid and Neville looked back with raised eyebrows, as if he were barking mad. They didn't reply, only proceeding further into the forest.

The deeper and deeper they walked into it, the more the Forbidden Forest began to stink. A heavy, suffocating scent filled the trees around them, and Teddy had to crinkle his eyes to prevent sneezing uncontrollably. With one hand soon covering his nose, he wondered if this was how the barred forest normally smelt. Hagrid seemed to not notice the horrible smell, and was stretching his neck as he looked around him, scrutinizing every detail of the forest. All of a sudden, Teddy almost walked right into the half-giant, for he had stopped, an odd frown on his face as he bent to the soil, shining his wand light on it. Clearly imprinted on the damp soil was a human footprint. As they stood in silence, they heard a low shuffling sound, and almost instantly, they raised their wands to eye-level. It was evident where the source of the noise was- ahead of them. A faint whimper of what must have been an animal came from there, making them start in surprise.

There was a small clearing in front of them, and within it was the strangest sight they had ever seen. A long puddle of blood had formed around a stooped figure and what seemed to be an animal. In the raggedy robes Neville recognized, Rolf Scamander stood up so quickly it was hard for anybody to react. For a moment before they saw each other's faces, both groups pointed their wands in hostility. Scamander looked like he hadn't slept since Christmas, his heavy bloodshot eyes angry and serious. Hagrid immediately perked up, realizing who the man standing in front of him was.

"Mr. Scamander," said Hagrid, holding out a large hand. "What might you be doin' in the Forbidden Forest?"

Scamander shook Hagrid's hand, and then gestured to the creature on the ground. With fur as black as night and a long, panting snout, the Niffler trembled in a puddle of its own blood. Hagrid immediately bent to examine the creature, which seemed to be in far too much pain to react to his gentle touch.

"It was attacked…" Hagrid said, pointing out the claw marks for everyone to see. Scamander nodded.

"That's not the issue," he said darkly. Teddy and Neville loitered at the edge of the clearing, visibly disconcerted by the appearance of the dying Niffler.

"There's another ruddy issue?" asked Hagrid gruffly. Solemnly, Rolf nodded.

"You can see it as well as I can, Hagrid. She's dying."

"Yer' right, but I'm surprised she's not dead already. Strong one, this," said the half-giant, rubbing the Niffler's nose affectionately.

"Hagrid," said Rolf, sighing heavily. "She's been dying for a good three hours now."

"What does that mean?" asked Neville, frowning.

"It means she's not dying."

Teddy gazed at the Niffler on the forest floor, its great big doleful eyes staring right back at him. He could see the reflection of his hair in her gentle eyes- gentle eyes that were filled with the moisture of intense pain. The brutal wounds on her side revealed her ribs to the dim moonlight, and as a light breeze rustled the trees, she shuddered violently. Teddy bent to the Niffler's side, suddenly realizing that for some strange reason, the bleeding had stopped. Though the creature lay in a pool of its own bright red life force, it's journey into the world of the dead had paused.

"He's right," he said. "Why isn't she bleeding anymore, Hagrid?"

"I've seen this before," said the Magizoologist softly, making Hagrid turn his expansive frame. "She'll bleed until she can move no more, but then it stops."

He knelt, stroking the Niffler's cheek. Teddy could see the glistening tracks of tears marking his face, shining like the blood on the ground.

"It's the same everywhere. They can't die. I don't understand it. They suffer endlessly. And Hagrid…"

Scamander stood, and pointed his wand at the creature before any of them could so much as move.

" _Avada Kedavra."_

The green flash of light that illuminated the clearing burst in a shimmer of golden sparks. When Teddy looked at the Niffler, it simply stared back at him, and blinked. A glimmering tear fell onto the forest floor.

"It doesn't work," said Neville softly, his face slack. Rolf shook his head.

"We cannot end her suffering. Believe me, I have tried for days on end."

Hagrid and Scamander, staring down at the Niffler, had the same horrible sadness on their faces. A deep and desperate desire to alleviate the poor creature's pain filled Teddy, but there was something else nagging at him, a memory that he knew he should have been able to recall. Before he could piece it together in his mind, Neville punctured the silence.

"Hagrid. Rolf," he began. "I understand how this must feel, but the only thing I can see right now is that fact that _Avada Kedavra_ didn't work."

Wiping his face on his large sleeve, Hagrid sat down with a huff, nodding.

"That's either a brilliant or an incredibly horrifying thing," said Teddy, unable to tear his gaze from the Niffler so cruelly stuck in between life and death.

"The Killing Curse relies on dark magic so old we know nothing about it. The Unforgivable Curses were part of a brand of magic that I have always believed wizards abandoned at some point."

Neville looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Teddy smirked.

"I studied to be an Auror, unlike you, Ron, and Harry."

Hagrid snorted.

"Ter' be honest, I'm not surprised Remus' kid's got spunk," he said, chuckling.

"Well, then go on, Head Boy," said Neville scowling at him. Teddy's face immediately took on an expression that resembled Remus Lupin's so strongly that Neville could only listen.

"Look at it this way. With these," he said, holding up his wand. "We control the world around us. The more proficient the wizard, the more the external world stops impacting him. He can conjure what he needs, remove what he dislikes, and repair what he breaks. He can burn things, turn himself invisible, disapparate, fly the skies- he can even modify a human being's memories. And he can kill the living beings around him if he so desires. The Killing Curse is the most base of all powers- to simply destroy one's life force. If it stops working, if the Dark Magic giving it power no longer has effect, then what does that mean for the rest of the magic in our world? I'm not saying that's the truth of it all, I'm saying it's possible, because the magic world changes every day.

"Voldemort changed the world when he created his Horcruxes. Before that, Dumbledore did it with his unique brand of sorcery, a delicate technique that combined the Transfiguration and Charms prowess he had, with an incredibly powerful strength in his magic that nobody could beat. The Dark Arts were useless on Albus Dumbledore, and after him, they were useless on Harry Potter. Every few years, something happens in the magic world to change it drastically. This can only lead me to wonder how frightening the magic world would have been without the rules our society has learnt to follow."

"If they weren't banned, the Unforgivables would kill everybody," said Neville gruffly. Teddy nodded.

"That theory does make sense, but if you look at the bigger picture, how did we survive if they weren't banned at some point? This is why we study Defense against the Dark Arts. If you look through history, a lot of things were classified into the 'Dark Arts' category, some because wizards didn't understand them. We all heard the story about what the Unspeakables study on Level Nine. There's a room kept locked at all times- a room where they study love. It's something that's so basic and part of our everyday lives, and we don't study about it in school. There aren't even books on it in the Restricted Section of the library."

Neville now looked thoughtful, for as he absorbed this, he comprehended the gravity of what Teddy was thinking. Harry had talked about the conversations he had had with Dumbledore, about the power of his mother's love. Neville began to realize the impact it had- even in history. Listening to Harry's stories about Merope Gaunt and her twisted love had never made more sense until this moment. In the resulting silence, the Head of the Hit Wizards also lapsed into his thoughts, for the edge of the memory that had been nagging at him suddenly became sharp as a knife. The talk of Unspeakables had reminded him of his encounter with Percy Weasley and Ulick Gamp at the Department of Mysteries. Though, the truth was, he now strongly suspected that Percy's uneasiness had to do with one particular room. The inability to send a creature to its death had made Teddy's mind spin, and he could only wonder if death itself had changed, but death was not a tangible thing to examine. His knowledge of it was next to nothing, but he knew that Percy would have a better understanding. The Head of the Department had mentioned 'that room' to Sir Ulick, and Teddy was now convinced that the room he referred to was the Death Chamber. He knew how Sirius Black had died, and where he had fallen, and he had heard of the veil that hung over the archway. Rolf Scamander, silent all through this speedy and wordy conversation, looked up.

"I believe if I used _Avada Kedavra_ on either one of you," he said. "It wouldn't work."

"The only known force capable of resisting the Killing Curse is the magic of self-sacrifice. When Lily Potter died for Harry Potter, she guarded him from death," said Neville, putting his hands on his hips. "It probably sounds ridiculous, but what if the same self-sacrificial love protected this Niffler as well?"

"It's not implausible," admitted Rolf. "But if I think about the creatures I've seen over the past week alone, and the way this poor calf has been suffering, I believe that the ineffectiveness of the curse has something to do with the way living creatures depart the world of the living."

Neville remembered how the imposter Professor Alastor Moody had experimented on spiders to show them the effects of the _Cruciatus, Imperius,_ and _Avada Kedavra_ curses. He remembered too well how the tortured spider had shrilly screamed. He also knew that their effects were easily replicated on wizards and Muggles alike. He nodded. Rolf spoke like he read from a novel, but to Neville, the Magizoologist reminded him of Luna. Though she seemed ready to believe any theory under the sun, regardless of how far off it was, there was no denying that Luna Lovegood was right more than often. At any rate, Teddy Lupin looked like he had just received grave news. It was evident that Scamander's theory made sense to him, for he began to nod silently, as if his own thoughts were being voiced, though Neville wondered what terrible ideas had come to him for him to look this frightening.

Fifteen minutes later, Teddy appeared with a loud crack somewhere in the middle of London. The neighborhood was a scatter of flowers and intricate arrangements of plants, and most houses were fenced by a low iron gate, beyond which were green gardens. Out of the many gardens, only one was meticulously maintained, carefully pruned and decorated. A young girl in a frock marred with soil stains fiddled with her growing juniper. Under her straw hat, a wavy mop of red hair fell onto her shoulders. Upon Teddy's sudden appearance, she frowned in recognition.

"Teddy!" exclaimed Molly Weasley, adjusting the hat on her head. Though he had not seen Percy's oldest daughter in a decent amount of time, he nodded as he rushed past her. Immediately, the front door of the house was flung open, and a bedraggled Percy Weasley emerged, adjusting his glasses.

"We need to talk. Now," said Teddy in between breaths. Nodding, Percy let him into the house, and they made a brisk walk to his study in the basement. Dark and cool, the wooden study was removed from the rest of the house, and was a sharp contrast to the flowery greenery of the outside world.

As soon as the door shut with a click, a strange pressure built in Teddy's ears before dissipating. He felt the magical barriers hiding Percy's secret studies come down quickly. He imagined that not a soul could hear them while they stood in this silent room. Resisting the temptation to sit even though he was still panting, Teddy relayed to Percy the shocking details of his walk into the Forbidden Forest, and his chance meeting with Rolf Scamander and the still-dying Niffler. He watched Percy's face turn from slack to dismayed, but slowly, his eyes began to grow wider, as if all his fears were coming to pass. Teddy started to rapidly feel like a messenger of death or worse.

"Percy."

The Head of the Department of Mysteries looked up, emerging from his deep thoughts like a fish out of water.

"When you were speaking to Gamp about 'that room'…" began Teddy, biting his lip. Percy raised an eyebrow.

"Were you speaking of the Death Chamber? Does all this have something to do with what's inside it?"

Percy sighed as if he had lost a great battle. He threw up his hands in surrender.

"Yes," he simply said.

"Explain," said Teddy, not forcefully.

"Gamp and Dumbledore knew that for years, the Ministry's emphasis on the Death Chamber was lacking. No one especially wanted to study the aspects of death, increasingly after it became clear that no wizard could bring another back to life. But that changed after the War. We have been watching all the rooms very closely, because we realized how connected they are to our lives. The matter in each of the rooms on Level Nine has something or the other to do with the direction our lives take," said Percy, tapping on the surface of his desk as he spoke quickly. He began to fall into his lecture-like pattern of speaking.

"Sir Ulick and I noticed a year ago that the arch in the Death Chamber had a crack on its side."

"A crack?"

"A crack," agreed Percy, his eyes drifting to the dark wooden floor. "After Sirius fell through the veil, the Department examined the arch, and found no damage done to it. Ever since, the room has been untouched. It remained locked, like the Love Chamber, for years before I took over the Department. Hermione helped me overturn the policy and open it up again. The Board agreed only because Gamp jumped in and stressed on how dangerous it could be to ignore the Death Chamber's contents. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have noticed the crack forming. The first thing I thought was that there had been an intruder, or an Unspeakable had done it. The prospect of an intruder trying to damage the arch is intriguing, but a few more cracks started appearing ever since that day. Eventually, they stopped. I checked the arch every day, and it remained the same. Then…before Christmas, Sir Ulick noticed that the veil was shorter than it had been before."

As Percy spoke, Teddy had begun clutching the side of the table with excessive force. His knuckles white, he listened with absolute alertness.

"As if someone had been burning it slowly with a candle," continued Percy. "It had reduced in length."

"Can the arch in the Death Chamber have some connection to the actual concept of death, Percy?"

"None of our studies have shown a direct relationship. Nothing concrete."

"The arch of the Death Chamber is breaking," said Teddy slowly. "And _Avada Kedavra_ isn't working. I can see nothing more direct. Harry needs to know about this. Our enemies are fiddling in magic we have no control over."

Percy, nodding, reached for his coat. Putting his arms through the sleeves, he grabbed his wand and stuffed it into his pocket.

"You said you'd be willing to escort me," he said, breathing fast. Teddy, realizing suddenly what Percy meant to do, found himself nodding. Percy held out his arm, and Teddy grabbed his sleeve, immediately disappearing from the study with a crack.

The empty lobby of the Ministry of Magic was filled with floating memos and documents. It was the first time Teddy had seen the purple memos rid of their flying enchantment. Their footsteps echoed all around the spacious room, making him feel very uneasy indeed. Their wands drawn, they almost ran to the elevators. A clang and a speedy rush later, Percy and Teddy stepped into the Department of Mysteries to find a very unhappy ex- Minister of Magic standing in their way. Teddy didn't notice, barreling through the ghost and feeling the horrible clammy coldness around him, as if he had walked through a Muggle car-wash.

"Sir Ulick," said Percy, startled. Gamp answered with a face of such grimness that Percy immediately began to approach the door of the Death Chamber. All discretion had been abandoned, as Teddy followed Percy backwards, his wand pointed at the elevator. A jet of light flew towards the iron grated door, and chains appeared, strangling the elevator to the Level Nine. A heavy golden padlock glimmered on its front. After casting a number of quick enchantments on the corridor, including a very useful modification of the _Homenum Revelio_ charm, Teddy rushed through the open door and into the long, deep room that Sirius Black had died in.

Dust caked the floor, but a lonely pair of footprints led to the arch at the bottom. It leered above them most impressively, its huge rock arms curving with stone muscles. Between it, a translucent glittering veil hung. Even from this distance, Teddy could see the arch shake. Percy was standing very close to the veil, his face aghast. The entire structure seemed to vibrate, and fine cracks covered its expanse. The veil smoked at the hems, sending strong smelling vapors into the air. What was burning it Teddy could not tell, but he noticed that very soon, the veil would disappear, leaving the void between the arms of rock open. He wondered if the thin, silk-like membrane protected the arch at all. It seemed so very fragile, and so very easy for someone to fall through…

The silence of the Ministry lobby and corridors at every level was not present within the Death Chamber. A loud, sharp echo of whispers ricocheted from every wall. The source of the sound was unmistakably the space through the veil. Like howling wind, it penetrated their ears. The words were disjointed and meshed together in harsh and hoarse hisses, making it increasingly difficult to decipher what was being said, though it was clear that every whisper contained a powerful fury. It felt like the dead, furious at being caged in their world of ghosts, yelled in wild wrath at the humans on the other side.

"It was never this loud," said Percy softly.

"The line between life and death is disappearing," said Ulick Gamp, perched at the edge of the room. The Minister held his hands fast behind his back, and he seemed ramrod straight and stiff as a board.

Percy nodded mutely.

"I have stranger news for you, Weasley," said Gamp, proceeding to move straight through the wall. When they ran to keep up with the ghost, they found that he had wandered into the Hall of Prophecies. Gingery stepping in, Teddy noted that the room was an incredibly cluttered room, filled with shelves weighed down by glass orbs that looked like Sybill Trelawney's numerous crystal balls. Each prophecy glinted mystically, and Teddy noted how few of them there really were.

"Harry and Dumbledore's Army destroyed most of the prophecies when they fought the Death Eaters here," explained Percy, his eyes glowing in the eerie light coming from the shelves. "But we've been keeping a strict watch on the prophecies that have appeared here ever since."

"Appeared?"

"Yes, appeared. And a prophecy can only be picked up by whomsoever it concerns. Frankly put, if you try to touch a prophecy that doesn't involve you, you'll go mad."

"Mad?" repeated Teddy.

"An Unspeakable named Broderick Bode... He was Imperiused by a Death Eater to wander in here and try to retrieve the prophecy concerning Voldemort and Harry. The moment he touched it, it drove him mad, and destroyed the remnants of the Imperius curse in his body," Percy said seriously.

"Who makes these?" asked Teddy, looking around at the glass orbs lining the shelves.

Percy pointed to the end of the room, where a black shelf stood. Not made of polished brown wood like the rest, this shelf held glass balls so clear one could see through them. They were unlike the other Prophecy Records, in that they did not swirly inwardly with thick mist. These orbs were seemingly empty of the predictions that filled the Hall of Prophecies.

"Those are manufactured in private. The containers for the Prophecies. We cannot know the contents of any of the Prophecies that are held in this hall, Teddy. When a prophecy is told, its contents magically appear in an orb. Sometimes, we know who these prophecies concern. Most of the time, we don't. When a new prophecy appears, I alone am allowed to lift it with a particular spell and place it on the shelves you see before you. With time, the people concerned may appear to us, but this is very rare."

As Percy spoke, Gamp had positioned himself at the end of the room, beside the black shelf. He pointed, as high as he could, to a single glass orb that gleamed brighter than any other prophecy in the room. Golden and silver clouds floated inside the ball, twisting into a tornado of lightning and thunder. His eyes wide, Percy raised his wand, murmuring a long line of words Teddy could not hear. A pulsating light emerged from the wand, creating an arc of sea-blue connecting the object and Percy's wand. The golden and silver orb was lifted into the air, slowly floating along the blue light that he had created. When it stopped before them, and twirled around, there were words etched at the bottom, on the base of the object. In slanting handwriting, the names _Ignotus Peverell and Armand Malfoy_ shone like blood on white flooring. Before levitating the prophecy into its rightful position, Percy stared blankly at it. Ulick Gamp, his ghostly white head inches from Teddy's, read the names carefully.

"This is the new Great Prophecy," he said, his sharp voice echoing within the Hall of Prophecies.


	18. Chapter 17: The Beginning

**Chapter 17: The Beginning**

A solitary sound echoed across the street, emitted from within a crimson telephone box. The phone rang, and continued ringing, but there were no passers-by to receive the unknown message. Newspapers, crushed beyond recognition, floated over the pavements. A Muggle Weekly's blaring headline yelling about climate change and natural disasters ending the world was face up before it was swept into the shadows of a nearby alley. A deep, ominous roll of thunder shook the ground, as if lightning bolts would suddenly burst from the surface of the earth. Slowly, like a drumroll sounding through the valley before a great King ascended, the heavy raindrops began to fall in sheets. The red telephone box was soon obscured from view. Another clap of thunder sounded, and the flash of lightning lit up the street, giving it a wash of deathly white.

The collapse of the twenty-five story office building had been too much for the Muggles to take, and with the weather turning into a potential hurricane, the Prime Minister had recommended on live television that the city's occupants remain at home. As of now, the Prime Minister was staring blankly at a television screen in his office. His revolving chair creaked as he stood, grimacing at the death tolls displayed by every news channel he switched to. Road collapses, buildings crumbling, the crime and murder rate going up thirty percent across the country, disappearances of entire families…and he was to believe this was all some mystical unexplainable phenomenon?

Of course, in fear, he _had_ given in and made that announcement in front of a hundred microphones urging his people to stay at home until the situation outside turned relatively safe. It was difficult, even in hindsight, to not be scared of _her._ The secretary of his office, a kindly old lady named Dorothy, dazedly informed him that morning that _all_ his appointments were canceled for the day. She did not say why or how, simply shaking her head and wandering back to her desk. Soon after, a woman strode in, and called herself Hermione Granger, the Minister for Magic. She was younger than him, and yet held authority in her voice like the snap of a whip. She spoke to him kindly enough, telling him that all the previous Prime Ministers had interacted with, a least once, a Minister for Magic.

Was he supposed to accept what she had told him? That all these ridiculous events and incidents were tied to some unexplained war that was happening in a world different from the one he lived in? Was he supposed to accept the claim that there indeed was a magic world? When he asked, she had stopped his heart by waving a brown stick in her hand and causing his teacup to shatter and then reassemble within seconds. She convinced him to make the announcement, making him reluctantly surrender his will. What would the Opposition think of him caving in? But then again, he thought, scratching his balding head, no one had _any_ idea what was going on these days. He gazed forlornly at the teacup, wishing it were all some grand joke. Why did he need to learn all this ghastly information?

Miles underneath the Prime Minister's feet, a different sort of unearthing was occurring. Four wizards on brooms zoomed past falling stalactites that were each larger than several cars. They veered to the side as clouds of dust filled the cavern. The massive stalactites hanging down from the ceiling made them look like fireflies, with all their wands drawn and glowing with light. After what was a dangerous course of flight over a few minutes, the leader of the group pointed his wand at the lower reaches of the cavern, yelling something unintelligible. He cut through the air, pointing his wand at the cracked floor and careening towards the ground. The other three followed. Their pace slowed as they entered through a rocky doorway, beyond which was a huge, leering sculpture set in the center of the room. Thick swathes of dust and cobwebs covered its expanse, there was no escaping its frightening glare. The grey stone goblin wore long robes, and in his hand he held what was unmistakably a crooked wand. The huge sculpture sat on a cloth-covered pedestal six feet high.

The four wizards touched down next to the sculpture, dismounting their brooms. Harry Potter marveled at the delicacy in which the statue had been chiseled- it was incredibly lifelike; he was half frightened that it would leap into action like the statues of Hogwarts defended the castle against the Death Eaters years ago. His eyes lingered on the wand in the goblin's grasp, knowing immediately that Bill had brought them to the right place. Straightening his cloak, Draco Malfoy sniffed as the stench of dampness and wildness reached them. The two brothers in the group, Bill and Ron, began casting enchantments around the door they had flown through, though the lonely caverns had been clearly uninhabited for years, possibly centuries. Gazing up at the statue of the goblin, Harry couldn't help but grin. He felt closer to the truth than ever.

After Kingsley's funeral, Harry had been unable to focus on much. Watching the lifeless body of a man he had respected and looked up to ever since they met had pained him beyond words. He had seen Kingsley leap to his defense more than once, and the Auror's endless faith in him matched Dumbledore's. When Shacklebolt had first appeared along with the Advance Guard at the Dursleys' doorstep to fly him to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, he had become part of Harry's family. It had been his pleasure to watch Kingsley take the Minister's post and rid the organization of its corruption, and it was his deepest privilege to reform the Auror Department at his side. After the body was found, he and Ron had realized that there _was_ no façade to put up, no lies they could tell the public when the truth was clear enough- there was a serious mishap occurring in the wizarding world, and the Ministry did not possess the means to control it.

Teddy left for Hogwarts immediately, burdened with several messages for Neville. His position as the leader of the Hit Wizards gave him a wide jurisdiction and a satisfying amount of freedom- meaning that Harry could trust him with organizing their forces along with the capable Hogwarts staff. Malfoy Manor turned into a thriving headquarters for the Aurors, with two entire floors occupied by the newly recalled Dark Wizard Catchers. Harry had expected many of them to be scattered across the country- too scattered to come back in time, but they returned quickly enough, their families safely hidden away. Harry found it rather ironic, and felt a deep satisfaction in knowing that Malfoy Manor had previously been Lord Voldemort's Headquarters. He had truly come full circle, though what was in the future lay hidden, shrouded in darkness.

Stuffed comfortably in Malfoy Manor's basement and armed with steaming mugs of Astoria's coffee, Harry, Ron, and Draco had listened without speaking to Bill Weasley. They had talked for a while, while he listened, as they transparently laid out every fact and incident to him. He listened quietly, but Harry noticed how the shine in his eyes grew stronger with every word. He knew at once that Bill was the greatest possible gift to them. Every now and then, he noted something down- something he knew he must remember without fail, or something he must avoid entirely. Bill had been extremely flattered when Ron urged him to meet them, and truly looked in his element as he explained things to them. When Draco had first come to Godric's Hollow with the sheet of paper etched with Cygnus Black's doings, a grim fear had taken hold of his heart. The thought of attempting to orchestrate a Gringotts break-in _again,_ when it had surely upgraded its security since the Second Wizarding War, was no joke. He had been awfully reluctant to broach the topic after realizing that Cygnus Black's Gringotts vault must have been far below them- miles below the surface of the earth, for the oldest vaults _must_ have been in the oldest excavated parts of the massive banking facility. But once Bill Weasley comprehended just how far into the past their curiosity was rooted, he seemed to calm down, as if the prospect of breaking into the most guarded facility in the world was now easier. Harry, for one, was panicking internally and wondering why he didn't have Hermione with him. Scanning the all-too-serious faces before him, Bill let out a low chuckle.

"No, it's not all that bad," he said, grinning with a twinkle in his eye. "But, it's not that good either."

He tugged a sheaf of parchment out of his pocket, smiling slyly as he brushed through it. He followed every line with his finger, until he finally stopped, smiling a satisfied smile.

"What's that? A list of all the vaults in Gringotts?" asked Ron. Bill smirked.

"No single person possesses that list, Ron, no, this is not a list of the vault-owners. It's against the law to distribute that information."

"And yet if it weren't, I doubt we'd be in this situation," muttered Draco.

"If it were, a lot of the wizarding population would be in Azkaban," said Harry, looking pointedly at Draco and the treasure trove of illegal objects scattered around the basement. Draco grinned sheepishly.

"This," said Bill. "Is an announcement I managed to get from a friend in another department. The department that's responsible for excavating new vaults and cleaning old ones. It took a while, but I convinced him to give it to me. It was distributed among his colleagues almost forty years ago."

Turning the page around for them to see, Bill made it clear instantly that reading the entire document would take a fairly long time; words crowded onto the piece of paper so stuffily that Harry was surprised they didn't leap into the air.

"It's a declaration that says that a set of cave-excavations were to be abandoned, with immediate effect. It's the only thing out of the ordinary I could find for you, Harry. When this was given out, people wondered why they were closing off an incomplete cave, especially with the detailed extension plan they had for the bank. But…I did some digging."

Bill winked as he took out his wand, pointing it at the forty year old announcement.

" _Evanesco,"_ he said, making it disappear into thin air.

"And I found out that the caves in question are located very deep below the earth, and _very_ far from Gringotts."

Harry frowned, and Ron leaned forward hopefully.

"Are you telling me that we don't have to break in to Gringotts?" the latter demanded.

"Oh, you'll have to break in," said Bill darkly. "Just not into the same place. Cygnus Black is a name so old in Gringotts history that it makes sense to me that his vault will _not_ be anywhere close. Bellatrix Lestrange's vault is still not old enough," he added, to Harry, who was wondering the exact thing.

"Then where will his vault be?" asked Draco, interlacing his fingers so he could rest his chin on them. Bill grinned almost maniacally, and Harry somewhat comprehended how hungry for adventure a curse-breaker that did most of his work in Egypt could be.

"I have a hunch," he said, smiling welcomingly at them. "That it's below us."

Draco narrowed his eyes, and Ron glanced at the floor beneath his feet. Harry turned to Draco.

"Is there a secret basement below your secret basement?"

Draco shook his head.

"Not as far as I know."

Bill raised his wand, pointing at the large blackboard fixed in the center of the room, its surface already littered with numerous names in Harry and Ron's almost-illegible handwriting.

" _Scourgify,"_ said Bill, wiping off all the words instantly. The chalk floated into the air, pressing its blunt point to the blackboard. It began to write like Rita Skeeter's Quick Quotes Quill. Names of families Harry knew and didn't know began to appear as Bill spoke.

"The Sacred Twenty Eight. A name given to a group of noble-blooded families that were, even by then, established in terms of ancestry and history. And if I were to put it bluntly, established in bloodshed."

Ron scowled at the name 'Weasley' up on the board.

"It is widely believed that the Sacred Twenty Eight was originally a name given to a collective group of individuals. A council of sorts. Of twenty eight individuals that might or might not have met more than once. Those of us that know of this, also know that the Sacred Twenty Eight occasionally met with the Minister for Magic at the time, and we believe that they had a decent amount of control over the laws that were enacted over the wizarding world.

"The reason I am telling you this, is because it is said that the Council's members had a very large role in the creation and functioning of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Therefore, it is natural for us to know that _their_ vaults were the very first vaults ever excavated in the caves under Britain. Cygnus Black's vault was no ordinary vault, I am sure. I am positive that the Sacred Twenty Eight ensured that their families and descendants were serviced in the very same way they wanted to be serviced. If one of Cygnus Black's ancestors was part of the original twenty eight, it makes complete sense to assume that the oldest, most secluded parts of the bank contained the riches of the most respected clients. But over the years, Gringotts became a commercial enterprise, and every wizard became a customer. They expanded their vaults, eventually creating their headquarters over the excavation sites. The deeper you go, the older and more secretive the vaults in Gringotts become, but eventually, the journey will end. Because there are only so many wizards. Once the Sacred Twenty Eight disbanded, or died, for that matter, Gringotts hid the existence of their vaults.

"I believe that there's a distinct possibility that these vaults were built directly below the Sacred Twenty Eight group's lands. And of the families, the oldest place I can think of is-"

"Malfoy Manor," finished Draco, exhaling with a puff. "Founded by Armand Malfoy-"

"Who was either part of the Sacred Twenty Eight or was the son of a member," said Ron. Bill nodded grimly.

Moments later, the four men soared through Wiltshire on brooms, the grassy land turning into swelling hills with streams cutting through them. They flew for what seemed like hours, until Bill's instincts took them to an oddly shaped structure in the middle of nowhere. Like a horseshoe, a fifteen foot high scaffolding rose from the soil. Moss and trees wrapped around its curving shape, making it impossible to spot from afar. Luckily, they had been flying low over the countryside, after being told by Draco that though these lands did at some point belong to Muggles, they had long since been annexed by the Malfoys. The strange jutting out of land had seemed off to Draco as well, for he seemed to spot it at the same time as Bill, scowling at it like he hadn't seen it before. When they landed, Harry and Ron stood quite motionless as the other two examined it.

"Flown through this place for years, and I've never seen this before…" Draco was muttering.

"You weren't looking for it," said Bill, as Draco drew his wand.

A swath of flames washed over the horseshoe, burning the grass to cinders. A wave of heat passed through them, and as the blackened strands fell to the ground, Bill looked at them with a smug face. The fifteen foot wall in front of them no longer seemed like a natural occurrence- a bronze sheen emanated from beneath its dirty exterior. Ron, surprising Harry with his uncharacteristic knowledge of household spells, cast what seemed to be an extremely powerful cleaning spell. Like rust corroding away to reveal shining metal, the browning dirt disintegrated into the air. The four men were staring at a padlocked bronze door.

Shining in the sunlight, it was clear that writing was all over the curving wall, but none of them could read it. The hanging lock was small, but when examined it, Harry realized that much like the opening to the Chamber of Secrets, there were tiny snakes winding up and down its circular shape. There was no keyhole. The snakes intertwined to create the lock itself, and gleaming emeralds shone in their eyes. Immediately, he recoiled as memories of the Dark Mark flashed through his mind. But the more he stared at the lock, the more he realized it did not look like a trademark Salazar Slytherin object. Its body was dull bronze, and the snakes did not have the unsettling appearance of being alive.

"Harry," said Ron. "Back away."

When Harry turned, all three of the men in front of him had their wands out. As he stepped away, magic burst out of their wands- tongues of flame, crackling lightning, and from Ron, what was definitely a Killing Curse. The curses exploded violently against the bronze door, sending smoke into the sky. When the smoke cleared, the bronze door had not moved. It remained entirely untouched. Bill snorted.

"Gringotts without a doubt," he said. "Not as old as I would've thought, which is odd, but I'm sure this is our way in."

He fired a few more nonverbal spells at the door, watching them ricochet and sizzle onto the grass.

"Parseltongue, you reckon?" Ron mumbled, looking inquiringly at Harry. But before Harry could think about the possibility, Draco touched the padlock. It shone a bright shade of cherry red, steaming as if the metal melted from the inside. Cursing, he withdrew his fingers quickly, while Bill swore and took a combat stance, glowering around him as if he expected the grass to attack them. The others stared at the smoldering lock, but it did not break open. The wall of solid bronze glared down at them as stubbornly as it had before, but Harry knew the strange behavior of the lock was a sign. After a few seconds, the lock returned to its normal state.

"I'd have thought touching it would release a trap," quipped Bill, still clutching his wand as tightly.

"I wonder…" murmured Harry, stepping forward so he could see the lock. He rolled it in his palm experimentally, and it did not glow cherry red, as if only Draco's touch could irk the metal into burning. Through the glow of the metal, he could still see how dull the bronze was. He had been in detention with Argus Filch, polishing and shining trophies in the Hogwarts trophy room, and he knew a lost cause when he saw one. The metal had been untouched for centuries, and though it stood rather precariously in the middle of Wiltshire, it had withstood the weathering of time and weather, but not without some damage to its once-bright sheen.

It looked dry, as if a drop of rain had never come in contact with it. With a start, Harry paused as he recalled a steep, rocky island in the middle of a storm, and a tired and haggard Headmaster of Hogwarts standing before the entrance to Voldemort's secret. He remembered the fake Horcrux and the note from Regulus Black, but at this moment, he remembered the very first thing Albus Dumbledore had done. Without an explanation, he turned to Draco and asked him a very strange thing indeed. The blond wizard nodded wordlessly, though his initial look of confusion mirrored the faces of the Weasley brothers.

Draco approached the lock, looking down at it distastefully. Raising his wand, he pressed the tip to his forearm, holding it above the bronze padlock as he whispered an enchantment. Slowly, thick drops of blood fell in stripes across his arm, dripping onto the padlock. Immediately, the bronze snakes began to move, their eyes shining with light. With a louder click than Harry expected, the bronze doors began to open outward, sweeping dirt and uprooting grass as it smoothly expanded.

The four men stepped back to marvel at the entrance to what seemed to be a gigantic cavern. Deep down, they could see the faint quivering of light from a flame. The sound of wind blowing through hollow spaces made it clear that they stood before the entrance they had been trying to find. Harry wondered what strange sights lay beneath their feet. It seemed an unwise decision to plummet to their deaths into an unknown place, so each of the wizards mounted their brooms, lit their wands, and prepared for an uncomfortable descent. Bill Weasley brought up the spearhead of their formation, while Harry took the rear, his head constantly flitting left and right- in case there were curious eyes around Wiltshire, though it seemed unlikely. `

Minutes later, they touched down, unharmed by the nightmarish stalactites, inside the cavern guarded by the silent goblin statue. The four wizards circled it curiously, and Draco reached forward for the cloth covering the bulky pedestal. His touch was sufficient for the frayed and eaten cloth to come away in fragments, falling like dusty strands of hair disintegrating into the light breeze that floated through the cavern. Draco backed up quickly, his face turning very pale. The wizards gazed, with a strange mixture of awe and disgust, at the glimmering, shining pedestal as it reflected the cavern's fiery lanterns into their faces in a hundred shifting shapes. Supporting the weight of the statue was a majestically carved piece, surely cut out of a single large stone. The glittering sapphire was a deep, ocean blue, and its many chiseled and smoothened facets depicted a scene that made Harry and the others distinctly remember the past they had left behind. Carved into the sapphire block were several human wizards and witches, dressed in robes that were ripped and tearing at the seams. The wizards hulked together to support the weight of the statue on their backs.

The incredible similarity to the installation at the Ministry of Magic under Lord Voldemort's reign was jarring, but they steered themselves away from its shine soon, preferring to have it at their backs. Harry wondered how such an item was valued- the sapphire alone was worth hundreds of thousands of Galleons, but the scenario it displayed would make anyone turn away.

As Bill, Harry, Ron, and Draco walked through the dusty catacombs, Harry wondered whose vault they would pillage first. He saw signs of dark magic all around him, peculiar runes that gleamed hauntingly on the walls they were etched into, and strange instruments that were once whole but were now smattered in pieces all over the maze-like cave. Once or twice, he thought he saw the symbol of the Deathly Hallows looming over him, but when he looked, it was just a set of runic alphabets that fit together too perfectly. The Sacred Twenty Eight seemed a dangerous and far off concept, and it reminded him of a more powerful, more frightening version of the Death Eaters- without Lord Voldemort hovering above them. He couldn't imagine the possibility of twenty eight Dark Lords coming together to discuss affairs of the state, making decisions that were carried on for years, centuries perhaps. It struck him how interesting all this would sound to Hermione. How many of the Ministry's laws were written by the Sacred Twenty Eight? And how many remained, to this day, dictating rules that were formulated in a time period so dark and dangerous that they knew nothing of it?

When Harry thought of the effect the Sacred Twenty Eight invisibly had on the world of magic, it made his head hurt. He believed Bill without question. As a boy, he never doubted the legitimacy of the world around him. His initial amazement had been replaced by a sheer love for all things magic- it was unlimitedly flexible, changeable, and misunderstood. The existence of the Deathly Hallows, when they were revealed to him, had changed his life. He was filled with the yearning to conquer death- he had stooped low enough to desire what Lord Voldemort had desired all along, a chance to be grasp immortality. Even Nicholas Flamel had bent to the unstoppable power of time, albeit after centuries of living. But more than one man had deemed death conquerable- even men Harry admired and looked up to had attempted to collect the Hallows. For this reason alone, Harry had made sure to play down those parts of his past to his children.

Lily hadn't gotten to the point of asking questions- perhaps because she extracted information out of everybody but her parents- but James and Albus found out hints of things everywhere, and came back to ask their father. He was coerced into telling them about his earlier adventures- they were particularly interested in the Triwizard Tournament, unsurprisingly. After McGonagall, swaying to music and mulled wine at The Burrow three Christmases ago, dared to mention how she and Olympe Maxime had been discussing the possibility of reopening the competition one day, the two boys had been absolutely engrossed with the subject. He allowed them this much- as long as they never asked him about the Deathly Hallows. He knew that eventually, the Invisibility Cloak had to go to James, but he preferred if James received it the way he did- without explanation.

As they moved deeper into the cavern, lanterns began to flare up, and they extinguished their wands. Many of the lights flickered constantly, as if they hadn't been maintained in ages. Some sizzled out; Harry presumed that magic, however powerful, didn't always last forever. They came upon a large square slab standing up in the ground, sleek and flat and at least fifteen feet wide and long. Dust caked it. Harry and Ron used the _Augamenti_ charm to good effect, spewing forth jets of water from their wands and washing the slab of its dirt. Bill marveled at the etchings on the stone, now glistening from the water.

"A map of sorts," he murmured, touching the slab. Indeed, the slab of grey stone was a crude map, with short arrows indicating directions.

Behind the slab, Harry noticed, the cavern narrowed slightly into a wide corridor, and the arrows began to make sense. Unfortunately, the runes were impossible for them to decipher, so they had no method to determine where they needed to go. Though pressed for time, they decided they had no choice but to stop at every room.

"I better not have to cut my wrists at every door," grumbled Draco as they left the stone behind. It turned out, thankfully, that this was unrequired. Bill had been correct in his musings; the only thing able to stand the test of time had been the bronze entrance to the cave. The oldest vaults that Gringotts Wizarding Bank had built were no longer as secure as they had been- the very first door they came across didn't need any unlocking.

" _Reducto,"_ said Draco rather angrily, and the iron door exploded into dust.

The group moved quickly, though their progress was stagnated at every room. Harry had never wanted for wealth; James and Lily Potter had left him a fortune in gold, and his high-flying career had ensured that his family would never need to worry. But what he saw in the first few rooms of the broken- down vaults left him in awe of the vast trove of treasures they had uncovered under Britain, in terms of monetary _and_ magical value.

The first room was a maze of sleek white boxes, all with traces of magic that made them look untouched. Varieties of wands lay in cushioned velvet inside each box. The wood of these delicate, beautiful objects were all different in texture and shape- there were some shaped like needle thin knives, some curling into spiraling shapes. Some were not made of wood. When Draco held up a spindle-like white wand, they suddenly felt the temperature in the room drop by several degrees, causing a thin layer of frost to cover the floor they stood on. Steam issuing from his mouth, he raised the box.

"This is..." he said in hushed tones. "Erumpent Horn, if I'm not mistaken."

Harry winced at the memory of Xenophilius Lovegood's Erumpent Horn exploding, unable to imagine the possibility of a wandmaker that could fashion a wand out of the dangerous material.

"All of these…some have writing on them…" said Ron, examining boxes rapidly. "Ollivander and Gregorovitch wouldn't have even _considered_ making wands out of these things."

"Infused with Basilisk venom, Hippogriff talons, Lethifold essence," announced Bill slowly, reading the engravings on the slim boxes. "This one's made of the femur of a Thestral."

Each of the strangely composed wands did disastrous things as the wizards held them up, either leaching the color from objects or causing them to explode. Harry uncased a box that seemed narrower than the others, though he feared what it would do if he tried to wield it. It was a deep shade of turquoise, and narrow, like a miniature spear. As if one of Horace Slughorn's aromatic potions had been released into the air, the smell of freshness and life filled Harry's nostrils. As soon as he smelled it, the scent disappeared, leaving him pleasantly bewildered at the wand he held in his grasp. He looked curiously at the box, and was rooted to the spot, even as Draco, Ron, and Bill began to move out of the vault.

Written clearly in looping golden handwriting were the words ' _Hungarian Horntail Bone and Phoenix Tears,'_ shining in the golden light around them. He almost felt the spiked tail of the Horntail from his Fourth Hogwarts year graze his shoulder again, but the vivid memory of Fawkes the Phoenix shedding his magical tears on a Basilisk-venom filled wound made him feel a very complicated set of emotions. He was reminded yet again that he would never fully comprehend the expansive world of magic, and how oddly some things tied together, and how some things came full circle. As he left the room, Harry slipped the white box into his pocket, wondering if, like the Phoenix feather wand in his hand, the Horntail-bone wand had chosen him as its wielder. The thought gave him a thrill.

They found gold in the next room- stacks of bars engraved with many different names and numbers. Many of them seemed of Muggle origin, and each bar was thick as Harry's forearm and as long as his wand. A fine layer of dust cloaked the golden bars, but the wizards left them untouched. Harry and Ron had fought through too much inside Bellatrix Lestrange's vault- _Geminio_ and _Flagrante_ curses to say the least- to allow themselves to be fooled by pure gold simply lying in wait for them to touch. The next set of rooms was filled with things Draco stared at in stunned silence, revealing to them that many of the antique objects were magical treasures believed lost. As an expert on the Dark Arts stashed in his father's basement, Draco was held hostage by the intricate and somewhat intimidating set of weapons and stuffed animal heads hanging on the walls of the vault.

Soon, the feeling of being enchanted by their discoveries disappeared, to be replaced by a growing sense of worry in Harry's mind. He admitted that they had done what no wizard had ever done- retrieved a massive trove of wealth for the wizarding world. The exciting feeling of looking on things no living being had seen for centuries had gripped them all, but now- it seemed like they were going to find only treasure, and no answers about the Gold Brotherhood in this extensive system of vaults. They began breezing through the vaults, and though they unearthed mysteries they could not fully understand- from instruments that would have looked at home in Mad-Eye Moody's possession to orbs that looked remarkably like prophecies so old and forgotten they must have expired years ago.

As if the uncovering of these ancient prophecies had spelled out a new path for them, the narrow cavern tapered into a chamber lined with dusty tapestries- each unmistakably different from the other. In the center of the chamber floor, three intricately designed circles had been drawn, and from their centers, a blunt golden point emerged from a dark hole. Directly above it was an even stranger occurrence- a hole in the ceiling as wide as a large wizard's body. Harry hadn't even realized they had been traveling uphill through the cavern; perhaps stopping at every vault had somehow masked their sense of place and time. As they approached, the golden spear points seemed more like the beginnings of long poles, immersed so deep into the ground only small parts shone to the world, like the gleaming tip of an iceberg. From below the surface of the chamber floor, small jets of crystal light ricocheted out of the dark holes. It almost looked like the rippling, star-like waters of the Prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts. Certain that something interesting awaited them, Harry knew what to do. Raising his wand before the golden pole in the center, he gently pointed its tip.

" _Ascendo,"_ he intoned, and with a sleek, silvery sound like a sword being pulled smoothly from its scabbard, the three poles rose in unison from the depths.

Immediately, the chamber blazed with multicolored, glassy reflections, as if a diamond triple the size of the sapphire pedestal behind them had suddenly appeared within it. Harry could barely make out the expressions on his friends' faces with all the flashing light. The hole in the ceiling made the chamber burst with illumination as it reflected off millions of surfaces. A cascading tinkling, like the sound of many fragile structures touching each other tentatively, accompanied the rising displays of glass. Almost as soon as it began, it stopped moving, having reached its maximum height. The golden poles were surrounded, like the rings of Saturn, with glowing glass rings, and embedded in these glass rings, hanging down in small filaments, were glass test tubes. Swirling gases of different colors occupied the bottom of each tube, and tiny paper labels were stuck on every shining surface. Bill and Draco watched wordlessly as Harry stepped closer to the glass containers. Ron stared steadily into the only source of light in the room.

"Harry?" asked Bill tentatively, unaware of the treasure they had just uncovered- a treasure more valuable than anything that had ever been seen.

"We've reached the end of our journey," said Draco, gesturing to the sunlight streaming into the chamber. "Where do we go from here?"

His fingers gingerly touching the surface of the closest glass test tube, Harry smiled. There were hundreds of thousands, even millions perhaps, and each had a different name, and many of these names Harry recognized. The blackboard back in the basement of Malfoy Manor, scrawled with the names of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, came to him, and he began mentally checking off test tubes.

"Where do we go from here?" he repeated, turning to the three wizards staring at him in confusion. Even Ron, after so long, had forgotten what a memory looked like. Harry was sure that in a corner of Professor McGonagall's office, a silver instrument had begun to gleam, beckoning to him even from miles away.

"We go to Hogwarts. With as many as we can carry."


	19. Chapter 18: Crimson Victory

**Chapter 18: Crimson Victory**

The roar of the crowd was reduced to a loud whisper, and the wind had stopped its tumultuous howling. A steady drum beat inside James' ears, echoing his heart. He barely heard old Madam Hooch announcing the rules and regulations both teams must agree to abide by before she blew the whistle. He numbly felt Quinn Finnigan shake his hand, but he barely returned the pressure. When he looked into Finnigan's eyes, he found himself in the odd position of someone looking at something but seeing something else entirely. He imagined he looked extremely dazed to the people around him. Before he knew it, the players around were mounting their brooms. Slowly, with his eyes still on the grassy pitch, he lifted his left leg over his _Firebolt,_ gripping its handle loosely. He felt the eyes of the entire stadium on him, but he found himself unable to get out of this stupor.

Several hundred yards away, Nuo Davies and Lucio Zabini frowned as they watched James float into the air like pollen being gently carried away by the breeze. Similar faces of confusion marred the Gryffindor stand, where students had already begun to whisper and point at James Potter.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Albus. Beside him, Dominique squirmed in her seat to get a better look at her cousin.

"I don't think he cares," she said flatly.

"I didn't think that was possible," a loud voice came from behind them. Francis was stretched out, a book in his lap, yawning as he uncrossed his legs. Scowling, Albus stared hard at his older brother, as if expecting the intensity of his gaze to make James turn around.

James felt nothing of the people around him. His awareness for the Quidditch players had completely disappeared, but without looking, he felt like he could tell where they were. His attention was absolutely clear- and his ears were still filled with a low buzz that drove all other sound from his senses. Every now and then, the _Daily Prophet_ picture of Kingsley's hanging body interfered, but every time it did, his features contorted into an angry glare, intense enough to cause the grass to smolder. James scoffed, glancing at the Slytherin stand suddenly, his razor sharp gaze finding Lucio, Nuo, and Scorpius sitting comfortably together. His eyes bored into Lucio's, who, even at that distance, recoiled at the glare James was giving him.

He heard the sound of the whistle, dull instead of sharp and biting, and as he swiveled around, in the same sluggish way he felt the world was moving, he saw Rose Weasley position herself in front of Gryffindor's goal, though her gaze was unfocused and largely nervous, and her eyes seemed to be fixed on him. Wind slapped his cloak around as his Chasers zipped away, their attention fixed on the Quaffle; they had bigger things than their Captain to worry about. In the next few moments, several things happened very quickly. Richards of Ravenclaw swooped towards their goal, hurling the Quaffle in Rose's direction. Nimbly swerving, the little Weasley Keeper swatted the Quaffle away ferociously. But she was unable to get back into position before Peron punched the ball back towards her. The _ding_ of the scoreboard was heard only seconds after the first whistle, and James was reminded suddenly of the loathsome feeling that followed him around for weeks after his first match with Quinn Finnigan's team.

The various things exploding inside his mind came together just then. Thought it had only been seconds since the match had begun, he was already losing. Though it had been only minutes on the Quidditch pitch, his mind had been swimming with so many things it had made his head spin. And then the eerie silence that followed his muddled thoughts had reduced him to a state similar to what Firewhiskey produced in him in the warm Gryffindor Common Room. His thoughts were clear, and he saw the way ahead of him. He saw his father, dressed in his Auror robes, holding the weight of the magic world, and he was reminded of the day he, Lucio, and Scorpius had flown into the Forbidden Forest. He cursed himself for forgetting the event had even taken place. The constant _Daily Prophet_ reports, Nuo Davies, and Rolf Scamander had made him forget entirely about it. When Teddy had told him of the Professors setting up defenses in the Forest, he had failed to remember the crucial piece of information he had been privy to, and he had childishly allowed it to remain a secret between the three boys. He regretted not telling Teddy immediately that there was a tribe of strange warriors camped out in the forest the students were barred from entering. He regretted not telling Neville Longbottom when he had the chance, as well. James felt foolish.

More than anything, James felt annoyed. He felt irritated at himself, his friends, and most of all, at this precise moment, he felt dangerously infuriated by a certain young man levitating at the other end of the pitch. In the moments that James spent hovering, Finnigan had already saved one of the Gryffindor Chasers' attempts to even the score, and Ravenclaw had doubled their lead, and it had all happened in the matter of several seconds. He no longer felt the eyes of the stadium on him. He shut his own eyes, allowing all of the crowd's excitement to wash over him, and the tension of the players around him to dissipate. When he opened his eyes, James Potter began to mentally count in his head. He saw a glint of gold almost immediately, but it was as if the ricochet of sunlight could only last a single second, for now it had disappeared. The silence of the crowd and the rapid patter of his heart almost made it so he could hear the faint flutter of the Golden Snitch's intricate wings. He didn't know where it was- but he knew he could find it.

An entire Quidditch stadium gasped as James Potter suddenly righted his broom towards the sky, shooting upwards like a cannon. He turned like a compass, his eyes darting around the expanse spread out below him. The Ravenclaw Seeker, Fortescue, had been slow, and in his shock at the Gryffindor Seeker's sudden upward climb, began to move towards James far too late. And then, James spotted it darting like a ray of light towards the staff stand, its wings carrying it quickly but not quickly enough. He dived- sailing like a comet straight past Sylvan Fortescue's stunned face, who, by trying to get to James, had failed to see the end of the match behind him.

The Snitch was ready for a chase; it twisted towards the right as soon as it became clear James had seen it. With the wind rushing in his ears, and the feeling that he flew over Godric's Hollow, his father flying behind him, he had eyes only for the golden orb. He could see it perfectly- even its artistic etchings and designs gleamed bright for him. He moved on instinct, as if his body had somehow melted into the handle of his broom. He leaned forward, his entire frame like a missile on the speeding _Firebolt._ The Snitch veered left and right, attempting to shake off its lone pursuer, but it was to no avail. It zipped towards Quinn Finnigan.

The Ravenclaw Keeper's eyes widened as it approached him, with James like a red arrow close behind. James felt like if he stretched out his arm, he would end up gripping the ball, but he wanted to leave nothing to chance. Or perhaps, he felt like Quinn Finnigan needed to _see_ himself lose. As the three hoops approached, he realized rapidly that the golden ball would fly directly through the small hoop on the left, the smartest option considering the pursuing Seeker couldn't fit through it. But at the pace he was going, James was confident that he would outstrip it. He turned right at the last moment, and he felt his cloak flap against the inside of the central golden hoop. He had pressed himself flat as the surface of the Great Lake, holding his shins up. Even so, he felt the laces of his shoes graze the metal, but his objective had been completed. The moment he passed through the goal, he twisted violently left at top speed; it took every ounce of his strength to turn the _Firebolt_ at almost hundred and fifty miles an hour- he was sure the sleek wooden broom would explode into splinters after being strained so much. He stretched out his left arm, and grinned as the Golden Snitch rocketed perfectly into the palm of his hand. His fingers closed around the ball, which fluttered in distress, as if to protest being allowed so little time in the sky. Before James heard a whistle blow in the distance, the velocity of his chase made him tumble to regain balance. The stadium was pin-drop silent.

"James Potter has caught the Snitch. Gryffindor win," he heard a stunned voice over the microphone say. "Gryffindor will meet Slytherin in the final of the Quidditch Cup!"

The stadium exploded with sound, and James was sure every wizard in the country could hear the cacophony erupting from the Hogwarts staff and students. His teammates surrounded him in a ring of crimson, and he saw that every member of the audience was slowly, as if recovering from shock, standing to applaud their victory. But even as his eyes raked the audience, he noted his godfather clapping along with them, pride shining in his face, and he locked eyes with the Herbology Professor. After a moment, Neville frowned and nodded, tilting his head towards a general direction- but a direction James knew: towards Hagrid's hut. Before James could nod in reply, he was lifted onto his team's shoulders and carried away. It had been hardly a minute since the match had begun.

The students of Hogwarts, overwhelmed by the sudden and quick end to the game, buzzed into the castle, their worries forgotten temporarily. For the next few hours, it seemed that the entire school would have their spirits lifted, and thoughts of ex-prisoners and criminals scaling hills and cities all across wizarding Britain would stay away. The Golden ball still struggling to escape from his grip, James jumped three stairs at a time to catch up to Lucio and Dominique before they disappeared through the Fat Lady's portrait.

Lucio had been there as they flew over the Forbidden Forest, and though Dominique had not, James knew fully well that she was aware of their various adventures already. A part of him wanted to keep his brother out of all this, and Scorpius was entirely out of the question. He would never forget the blond fourth year's cheeks turning blue as the woman in the forest strangled the breath from him- and he cursed himself every time it came to his mind, remembering his father's faith in his ability to protect his family and friends. After Dominique's unexpected appearance at the bottom of the North Tower, James felt closer to her than any of his other relatives. Though they met from time to time at dinners and holidays, he had never found the need to talk to her. As it were, she was always buried in a book. After the tears he shed under Trelawney's stairs, he felt a connection to his cousin, and with it a need to tell her what Sybill Trelawney had said to him that day- and more than anything, he had to talk about the frightening conclusions he had come to in his mind.

While the pair waited downstairs, James changed out of his Quidditch things and into a fresh pair of jeans and a dark green t-shirt with a golden talon emblazoned on its breast. Spreading in two arching lines on his back were the words _Holyhead Harpies._ For some odd reason, the colors of his favorite Quidditch team had a calming effect on him, reminding him of the numerous holidays he spent discussing strategy with his parents. When he had been made Captain, he found himself talking to his mother more than his father, for he no longer needed a Seeker's advice- he needed to come as close to professionally understanding the sport as possible, and only a former _Harpies_ Chaser could do that for him. He leaped down the stairs, his wand sticking out from the back of his pocket. He found Lucio and Dominique staring intently into the fireplace.

"What-Neville!" he exclaimed, peering between his friends. His features twisted by the flickering green fire, the Herbology Professor stared back at him.

"Come down to Hagrid's in about fifteen minutes. And bring your Dad's map," said Neville. James nodded, and he disappeared immediately.

Looking around, James realized that the Common Room was deserted except for the three of them. Even the Fifth Years, whose OWLs had been postponed indefinitely, now spent their time on the grounds or in the library when not in class. He looked at Lucio and Dominique, who mirrored each other's puzzled faces. James hurriedly sat down, ushering them to the sofa. He quickly recounted what had happened before the Slytherin- Ravenclaw Quidditch match, leaving out no detail, from Trelawney's disturbing behavior to the unpleasant words that poured out of her mouth. With every word, his friends sank deeper into their seats, and Dominique began to frown as if everything James said began to cause her further annoyance. Suddenly, James leaned in to whisper almost hauntingly, even though the room was empty of eavesdroppers.

"My Dad once told me that Trelawney's a descendant of a Seer," he said. "And he told me she had once told him a prophecy that came true."

"That old fraud? Really?" demanded Lucio, raising an eyebrow.

"It's true. Cassandra Trelawney was a real Seer," assured Dominique. "But I'm not sure about this one. Can you repeat what she said, James? Word for word, please."

"It has already begun," said James, staring into the fire. "The lines have disappeared, and death is alive. It sits behind the veil, and only invisible blood can whet what noble blood can find. The flood will begin today with broken stone and salt water, and the dam will be broken by claws and fangs."

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, allowing the words to wash over them. James could almost hear Sybill Trelawney croak at him again. He turned to his friends.

"That night, the mass breakout happened at Azkaban."

Dominique gasped, and Lucio balked, pressing his fingers to his temples.

"Azkaban-" he began.

"Is a prison in the middle of the ocean," completed James with finality.

"The flood will begin today with broken stone and salt water," repeated Dominique softly. Lucio sat up ramrod straight suddenly, locking eyes with James, who nodded like he understood his train of thought. Quickly, James recounted to Dominique what Rolf Scamander had told him on Christmas, about the strange aggression of the magical creatures inhabiting the world they lived in.

"You reckon the prisoners were broken out by magical beasts?" asked Lucio. James frowned.

"We can't be certain, even the _Prophet's_ reported nothing about the breakout, apart from when it happened."

"What about 'invisible blood can whet what noble blood can find'?" inserted Dominique. Again, James shook his head.

"That's as much as I understand."

"Why'd you think Neville wants to see the map?"

Both of James' friends knew of Neville's grim conversation with him on the morning of Kingsley's death, and the immediate conclusion all three of them came to was that the map could have more uses than one, especially when Hogwarts could be under imminent attack. A quiver of excitement passed through Lucio, as if the idea of an oncoming battle thrilled him.

"Well, let's ask. He needs to know…what we saw," said James haltingly.

Lucio winced.

"Everything?"

"Everything," nodded James. Beside him, Dominique nodded vigorously.

"If this is true, the teachers need to know. And Teddy's here," she reminded them with a smile.

Even though their last meeting had been sudden and uncharacteristic, James was relieved by Teddy Lupin's presence at Hogwarts. He had always been present in some way- be it as the Head Boy pulling them out of the library's Restricted Section or the Head of the Hit Wizards guarding the students. On top of that, as James spent more time with Dominique, he realized just how much Teddy reminded him of his father. As they made their way through the Hogwarts grounds, his father's words echoed in his head- said immediately after James had voiced his confusion about Teddy's sudden appointment to the Head of the Hit Wizards.

"Does the Ministry usually give a post like that to someone so young?" he had asked, knowing that the person he directed this question at had been appointed Auror Captain at a much younger age than anyone in history.

"When it needs to be done, yes," came his father's swift reply, a twinkle in his eye. "And if he proves himself, he might be sitting where I am someday." James felt a thrill rush through his spine at the thought of his own Teddy Lupin donning the black robes of an Auror, and taking his father's place as the supreme leader of the Ministry's defense and security forces.

James had not noticed the fog clinging to the air as he stepped onto the grounds that morning. Even when in the air, he had been moving so quickly and reacting so explosively that he didn't give himself a moment to register just how cold it was. The fog made his thin shirt stick to his chest, and as he stepped across the grass, he noticed how stiff the green blades were as they scrunched underneath his feet. The cold made him feel uneasy; he felt like he had unwittingly thrown a foreign ingredient into a potion swirling in a whirlpool beneath him. Perhaps this was all just one toxic cauldron, he mused, and they were things coming together to create a massive whole. Striding beside him, her red hair tied in a tight bun, Dominique shivered. By the time the trio reached Hagrid's homely hut, they could already hear raised voices inside. Slightly nervous, James rapped on the door two times.

The thick oak door swung open immediately, revealing a mess of unexpected proportions- even for Hagrid's cabin. Newspapers were strewn everywhere, and used mugs and goblets were littered all over the large dining table that now took up much of the room. The cabin was crowded with more wizards and witches than usual. A number of them perched on windows, sat on chairs, or paced the stuffy space. All these people looked up rather sharply as Neville opened the door, ushering them inside quickly. He did not seem surprised that Dominique and Lucio accompanied James; in fact, he seemed rather pleased.

In the far corner of the room, Professor McGonagall frowned behind her spectacles. Her wrinkled face concentrated on James as he stood idly at the door. His bright blue hair untied and swaying in the cold breeze, Teddy Lupin sat on one of Hagrid's windows, his hands clenched in front of him as if he tried desperately to recall an important answer in an exam. Leaning on the wall was Percy Weasley, in a crimson sweater and a worn pair of jeans. He smiled at his nephew, his eyes shining from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. Old Madam Pomfrey, still in her white robes, rested her chin on her hands, gazing with an unexplained intensity at the three students. Hagrid himself took up a large amount of space- he hovered on the steps leading behind his cabin, obstructing light from entering the open back door. James started as his eyes fell onto the most surprising presence in the suddenly quiet cabin. Getting up with a lopsided grin on his face, Rolf Scamander reached forward and wrung his hand up and down.

"Hi, James, and this must be Bill's daughter, Dominique?" said Scamander, turning to Dominique, who nodded, slightly aghast at the Magizoologist's rather haggard appearance.

"And you must be Lucio Zabini, the one who worked on the map with James? Phenomenal work, I must say," said Rolf breathlessly, now clasping Lucio's hand.

By this time, Neville had taken a seat in a chair close to the door, which he shut with a thud. Immediately, James noticed another in the room. Behind the door, her head resting on her knees, the Minister for Magic smiled feebly at him. His aunt Hermione's hair, usually sleek and long, was frizzy and unkempt, and her white shirt looked worn and old. The dark circles beneath her eyes stood out. James quickly noted how every single person in the cabin seemed to look exhausted, worn out, and most of all, like they hadn't changed their clothes in weeks. It made him ashamed to think of the revelry the Sixth Years had indulged in on the night before the Minister's assassination. Neville tapped slowly on the side of his chair, staring intently at James.

Feeling rather conscious, the three students found three unused chairs and plopped themselves down onto it. James had prepared to begin with an apology to his teachers for keeping information from them- but he knew in his heart that he would not have shared anything unless he understood it fully. Had he not gathered what Trelawney's could-be-prophecy seemed to spell out, he would not have had the confidence to address the high-caliber wizards in the room. With a deep breath, he began, fully aware of the seniority and experience of the men and women sitting around him. McGonagall and Pomfrey looked at him with a strange emotion in their eyes, and he could have sworn he saw the old matron wipe a tear from her eye. Hermione tilted her head to one side, her face blank, only listening.

Without stopping, James told them of how he heard Sybill Trelawney's announcement, and how the Azkaban breakout seemed to have an odd connection with a part of it. He told them how he, Scorpius, and Lucio had flouted school rules and soared over the Forbidden Forest, to find the clearing and corridor that revealed the presence of a massive tribe's encampment. With every word, he watched as the faces around him changed drastically. Hermione's haggard face gave way to an expression he was familiar with- an intensity packed stare filled with the drive to _do_ something. Professor McGonagall had lowered her glasses, her eyes growing wider as she listened. Teddy, who hadn't spoken even to greet them, began to slowly stroke his hair from its roots, his eyebrows drawing together as quickly. His eyes were a bright blue today, like a sparkling ocean. Percy was in a trance, hanging onto every word, looking like something was dawning on him very slowly. Madam Pomfrey was fanning herself with her hand. In contrast to the serious, tense group, Hagrid and Neville chuckled quietly as James finished. The Herbology Professor shook his head, sighing.

"Yeh'd have given Fred and George a run fer' their money, that's for sure," said Hagrid gruffly. Suddenly, the silence in the warm hut broke, and everyone but Teddy and James and his friends had to laugh softly. It seemed to James that the darkness surrounding Hagrid's home had suddenly lifted, as if he had lit a match that rekindled a host of joyful memories.

"Indeed," said an unfamiliar voice, followed by soft laughter. The man sounded old- so old, James imagined he had lived several lifetimes. He turned to find the source of the sound. Propped up on the window sill, right next to Teddy, was a portrait of an old, silver bearded man wearing a navy blue wizard's hat that twinkled with golden stars. Crescent moon spectacles glinted in front of his brilliant blue eyes. Smiling genially down at James was Albus Dumbledore.

"I was present when she issued her first prophecy. She may not look it, but at times, Sybill Trelawney is every bit the Seer Cassandra was. And this…"

"This makes sense, Professor," said Hermione grimly, an edge of satisfaction in her voice. She glanced at Teddy, whose frown had deepened further. Pursing his lips, he nodded. He made a general wave of goodbye to the occupants of the cabin.

"Found my friend Fenrir," he said, a hint of malice in his tone as he shut the door of the cabin with a thud. Immediately after the door shut, Albus Dumbledore began to speak, but his voice was suddenly brisk and straightforward.

"I know a discussion is in order regarding the names concerned with the prophecy," the old Headmaster said, directing his blue eyes at Percy and Hermione in the corner. "Some things are becoming clear to me now, as I imagine they are to you. The blank spaces in our conversations are being filled in, but at this precise moment, we have immediate concerns."

As one, Percy and Hermione nodded. The two of them and Dumbledore gave James the funny feeling that as far-fetched as his story might have seemed, they had been arriving at similar conclusions. He was sure that they had discussed more than Dumbledore let on, but before he could ask, Professor McGonagall stood, straightening her spectacles.

"The students and this castle," she said, nodding sharply. Everyone in the cabin stood at once, prompting James and his friends to rise with them. And then, a terrifying muffled sound made the occupants of Hagrid's hut pause. It came from very far away, but they heard it distinctly: a high-pitched scream.


	20. Chapter 19: The Howling of the Moon

**Chapter 19: The Howling of the Moon**

Like Muggle machine guns, the loud and rapid slap of many feet on stone echoed at the castle's entrance. A torrent of students rushed in through the doors, turning towards the dungeons and the Slytherin Common Room. Still in their dinner things, Madam Pomfrey and Professor Slughorn, wands out and ready, ushered the children in, yelling words of encouragement. The many years they had spent under the very same roof they stood under were etched on their faces- and Slughorn's now-white hair flickered in the light of the lanterns. The long-time matron of Hogwarts, a permanent resident of the Hospital Wing, made Neville realize that many of the staff members shared Albus Dumbledore's longevity and energy. The Hogwarts staff refused to give in; in their years of service, they had seen much, and climbed a great many obstacles. Some distance away, the opening to the Slytherin Common Room was wide open, and much like the two staff members, Lucio Zabini and Dominique Weasley stood guard, Lucio instructing the younger kids to run straight to the dormitories. The Slytherin boy kept close watch for Nuo Davies, fully aware that she would try her best to join James. He was even more attentive to the likes of Scorpius, who he had already caught at the doors attempting to go against the flood and back outside into the evening.

The clamor of students within the castle disappeared the moment the doors closed with a thud. Outside, breathing in the chill evening air, a long line of witches and wizards stood with sleeves rolled up to their elbows, and wands ready for imminent attack. The orange sun sank almost too slowly, fraying nerves as darkness leached into the sky. Mist hovered at eye level, clouding the grounds with a peculiar sheen.

Swearing under his breath, Neville Longbottom cursed himself for not noticing the frigidity that had spread across the Hogwarts grass. The First-Year girl that had screamed her lungs out had alerted the entire castle, but only Neville and the others had seen the creature that hung like a huge black curtain above her, leaning closer and closer to her frightened face. The startling appearance of the Dementor had made Neville hesitate before casting his Patronus; he was taken back immediately to his third year, when the Dementors of Azkaban stood guard around the school.

James, Lucio and Dominique appeared behind Neville. James stowed his wand away, bending to cradle the First Year girl in his arms. Neville wondered if Harry had taught his son how to cast a Patronus…

"Go, James, take her to the castle," he said.

"That was a Dementor, wasn't it? How did it get in so easily?" demanded James, still holding the now-shuddering girl in his arms. Her skin was pale and clammy.

"James, GO!"

James hurried off, as Hermione and the others arrived. Speaking as rapidly as he could, Neville explained to them what had just transpired. Hagrid and Scamander exchanged uneasy looks, but McGonagall was quick to react.

" _Sonorus,"_ she muttered, pressing the tip of her wand to her throat.

"All students must, at once, evacuate the grounds and enter the castle. You will remain in the dungeons, in the Slytherin Common Room and dormitories," boomed her magically magnified voice, almost making Neville's eardrums explode.

" _Quietus,"_ she intoned, allowing her voice to come back to its normal volume. "Zabini, Weasley, into the castle- personally see to it that not one student is left out."

Once Lucio and Dominique disappeared, nodding their heads vigorously, McGonagall turned to the group.

"The dungeons are the safest place for them to be, if what Mr. Scamander tells me is true," she said grimly, making eye contact with Rolf, who agreed slowly. Neville wondered what the Magizoologist had told McGonagall, but the grimness of their exchange made him reconsider asking.

Suddenly, the ground shook, as if a muted explosion had taken place under their feet. The silvery barrier that hung around the school- the magical shield that the Hogwarts staff and Teddy Lupin had created- burst into millions of fragments. Looping strands of magic, drifting down like feathers, dissipated as they fell to the ground. The jarring explosion receded into the silence that now hung over the grounds.

Now, the wizards stood almost linked together, circling the front door of the castle, spreading out onto the grounds. They waited quietly, but the silence weighed heavily on them. And then, all heads turned towards the Forbidden Forest, for a singular rustle seemed to emanate from the dark trees. A horrific creature loped out, its paws clearing massive distances as it sprinted towards them, drool visibly flying from its open mouth. With an almost humanoid face, a lion's muscled body, and a long, curling scorpion's sting for a tail, the Manticore howled at them from afar, evidently feeling no fear in the face of the troop of wizards whose faces were aghast at this strange enemy. Its size was magnificent, and for once Neville saw what Hagrid saw in magical beasts, for the Manticore's head rose to the half-giant's height.

" _Stupefy!"_ he bellowed, sending a jet of red light sailing towards the monster. The curse ricocheted off the beast's skin as if it was made of metal, and it responded to Neville's challenge, veering towards him. Dumbfounded, he was stuck to the ground as it came closer with every second. Any moment now, its fangs would sink into his flesh.

Rolf Scamander leapt into action, whipping his wand upward. The very ground ripped apart, spewing grass and soil everywhere, and a massive slab of thick soil, like a concrete stone, collapsed atop the Manticore, whose howls were soon silenced. Once again, there was quiet. Neville began to feel the same fear he had felt when he was fighting for his life in this very place- but he felt worse, like nothing was under control, like they were absolutely unprepared for what was to come. Fortunately, the Magizoologist took the lead, spinning on his heels to face the other wizards.

"Manticore skin repels normal enchantments and curses. Be certain that more will come. And be certain that normal magic will not work- these aren't wizards with physical weaknesses, these are beasts, trained to withstand the work of nature. And many of them are far more intelligent than you perceive. There is no time for me to explain the intricacies of hunting magical beasts, but understand that this is no wizard's duel. There are rules to a duel. Curses, counter-curses, shields..."

Scamander turned back to the Forbidden Forest, his cloak flapping in the wind.

"What about them?" asked Neville.

"They don' apply," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' count on yer' magic, count on your legs to get away."

Hagrid's ominous advice was greeted with no response, until the familiar sound of brooms flying through the air reached them. A cluster of wizards and witches, with Teddy Lupin bringing up the front, touched down. Among them, Neville was happy to see Seamus Finnigan, whose son had been dealt a colossal loss by James Potter just that morning. Seamus looked much the same, albeit a grim countenance that made it clear that wherever the Aurors and Hit Wizards had come from, it was no happy place.

Teddy turned to Hermione and Rolf Scamander as if to make a report. Sweat beaded his face, and his electric blue hair was no longer vibrant, but dull and dirty.

"We only had enough time to fly by. But what we saw confirms Greyback's statement in the Wizengamot thoroughly. Camped in the Forbidden Forest-"

"An army. Big one," finished Seamus, using his hands to explain just how big this army was.

"Manticores-" continued Teddy, unfazed by the interruption.

"Really," mumbled Neville, eyeing the mound of dirt that once was a savage beast.

"Chimaeras. Sphinxes. Centaurs. And," said Teddy, glancing at the half giant in their presence. "Acromantula."

Hagrid let out a low whistle.

"And the godforsaken mist didn't let me count-"

"Dementors," said Percy distastefully.

"Or something worse," added Scamander darkly, now shaking his head.

"And werewolves?" asked Hermione, surveying Teddy as he glared at Rolf.

"Ah… Too many to try to count."

Hermione nodded curtly.

"When will the Aurors be here?"

"Once word reaches them in Wiltshire...I'd take a guess at an hour."

"Wiltshire?" asked Hermione, puzzled, before the address made sense to her. If she didn't fear for the safety of the students within the castle, she would have laughed at the thought of Harry, Ron, and Draco Malfoy skulking around Malfoy Manor discussing strategy with the other Aurors. She sighed.

"The barrier will no longer help," said old little Professor Flitwick.

"And _Avada Kedavra_ no longer works. Don't try it," said Neville miserably, addressing the wizards around him. They nodded without question. Perhaps because they were on the edge of a war with all the magical beasts of the world, anything was believable, mused Neville. He noticed that Rolf Scamander had not moved an inch, and he seemed to be in furious thought.

"Then it is time for us to prepare for battle," said Professor McGonagall, beginning to roll up her sleeves.

"Not quite," said Scamander suddenly. When he rose to his full height, Neville could see an expression of ill-disguised rage on his face. Scamander stalked over, planting himself in front of Hermione, who raised an eyebrow.

"Something in Teddy's list was interesting to me," he said seriously. "Beasts I've heard of- yes, some don't belong here- but there are Beings surrounding us, Minister."

Neville looked at Hermione, the intensive care he had taken with his Care of Magical Creatures _OWL_ studies coming back to him. Beasts were classified by wizards as anything lower than human intelligence- creatures that were instinctive, impulsive, and wild. Beings were not such unfortunate creatures. Their intelligence mirrored and often, as in the case with centaurs, surpassed wizards. He knew that sphinxes were intelligent enough to be assigned the 'being' label, but the lion-faced creature apparently attempted to eat every single human it chanced upon.

"Dementors, I can believe. The Dementor will agree to any war as long as it is a war on a creature possessing a soul. The Dementor will fight without cause. But Centaurs and Sphinxes, even making the Acromantula leave their nest for this…Hermione, this is not Fenrir Greyback's army. Fenrir Greyback could not have shattered a barrier cast by Hogwarts professors and Aurors. Before I prepare to lay down my life for this school and country, I'd like to know who my real enemy is," finished Rolf quietly. His words were curt, but polite and gentle. He spoke, Neville realized, like a man who had decided to stay regardless of Hermione's answer. She stared back at him without an ounce of emotion.

"We believe it is an ancient organization, older than the Ministry itself. Fenrir must have been a late recruit. I assume there were and are many more. We initially believed that it was founded by goblins."

Rolf snorted humorlessly. Hermione looked at him questioningly, but all the tension in Scamander seemed to have left him. Neville truly believed that all the man wanted was a straight answer. He would protect his wife's school, just as he had planned. Or he would die trying, thought Neville drily, knowing how bleak their circumstances seemed at this point.

"I would like to meet a goblin that could convince Manticores and Sphinxes to do battle for him. What does bother me the most is the fact that many of these creatures live in places quite far from Hogwarts. Hagrid?"

Hagrid growled, scratching his beard.

"It means tha' whoever's got these beasts doin' his biddin', it's mighty possible Teddy's list is only the half o' it."

"Can we last until reinforcements arrive?" asked Seamus from the grass, where he was sitting cross-legged. He had been watching the conversation progress as if it were a tennis match, his head flitting left and right constantly.

"Maybe. But like Hagrid said, if this wizard, or goblin, or whatever he or she may be, has the ability to unleash _anything_ on us, then we can assume that there will be no survival."

"No survival," repeated Neville softly, rolling the words between his lips.

"Don't misunderstand," said Rolf. "But if the things I'm thinking of come here, then we are simply too insignificant."

"We will fight to the last one," squeaked Professor Flitwick, miniscule in Hagrid's shadow.

"No," said Rolf firmly. "You need to grasp this. There might come a time when there is _no_ fight. Do not underestimate this army. And if I can offer any words of positive advice, it is this. Do not try to defend the castle. Defend the students. But the castle may not stand by the end of this night."

Neville thought that this wasn't positive in the least, but he nodded. He was worried, beyond doubt, of Rolf's emotionless tone. A frightening part of him wondered if Rolf believed that a flock of dragons would suddenly cover the night sky and breathe endless fire down on them. But if he remembered anything at all, Neville knew that dragons could be the least of their worries…

"We are vastly outnumbered, Professor," Teddy said quietly. "We cannot defend the castle. I suggest we buy the students as much time as possible-"

"For them to go where?" snapped McGonagall, not harshly. "If our grounds have been so deeply penetrated, you can be sure the enemy has Hogsmeade. And I have always understood one thing: if Hogwarts, the root of magic in Britain, is overrun, the rest of the country is no better."

Hermione nodded.

"The castle cannot fall. The Ministry remains cowering in a corner, hidden from the enemy. We cannot fall," she said, her eyes sparkling with intensity. Neville suddenly felt stronger standing beside his old friend. He had found out very early on in his Hogwarts life that she could do more than her invincible _Petrificus Totalus_ spell that had inflicted paralysis on a great number of witches and wizards.

"We may be outnumbered, but we are not incapable," said Neville, grinning.

"We may not be as outnumbered as you think, Professor," said a gentle, pleasant voice all of a sudden, making Neville almost jump out of his skin. The witches and wizards spread out immediately, turning to take in the surprising sight of a large group of students, and one smiling Luna Lovegood, who jauntily took her spot beside her husband. Neville peered at Francis and Alice with narrowed eyes, nodding at them as sternly as he could, hoping to convey how important their survival was.

"All students above the fifth year," said Luna directly to McGonagall, who was about to say something Neville would not have liked to hear. "Just like we did, they should be allowed to fight for their home."

"And our parents and friends," said James Potter, leading the group behind him. He looked so remarkably like his father that Neville almost imagined a lightning-bolt scar running across his forehead. James held his wand loosely in his hand, and his expression was one familiar to Neville, after years of watching the young Seeker outmaneuver the opponent for victory. Minerva McGonagall raised her head high and proud.

"It is too late to be concerned with convincing you lot to return to the dungeons, at any rate," she said.

While Rolf Scamander, Neville, and Seamus prowled the edge of the woods, listening for any indication of the onset of the attack, McGonagall, Percy, and Hermione issued orders. Teddy frowned at the Marauder's Map, his fingers tracing various outlines. The present Aurors and the teachers of Hogwarts took groups of students across the grounds. Soon, their spot was no longer trampled on by scores of people. Only McGonagall, Hermione, and Hagrid remained, kneeling in a loose triangle, staring at the map on the ground, illuminated by the light of their wands. Hermione couldn't help but admire the additional work to the map done by Lucio and James- their inclusion of a small part of the Forbidden Forest would be more than helpful. It gave them a clear understanding of the distance between the enemy and themselves.

Neville, shaking with adrenaline, couldn't be still for long. He stood, breathing in the cold night air. He and a group of students had positioned themselves beside the Greenhouses. Glinting in the moonlight, the glass structures looked majestic to him. After his return from Brazil, he had, after much conversation with McGonagall, renovated every Greenhouse, even introducing brand new species of plant life. Besides this, Hannah had been to the Greenhouses to see his work, eventually curious enough to find out what kept her husband away from home the most. She left a lasting impression on the set of glass houses, decorated them with various baubles and lanterns, as if the Venomous Tentacula specially enjoyed Christmas. A student stood at the door to each, wands at the ready, listening for his word. He almost grinned, thinking about how his wife's deep desire to decorate had suddenly come in handy. He glanced at Francis and Alice, who stood at the front of the line of students. He saw no fear in his children's eyes, only a hard glint that told him that they were prepared for a fight. He was worried, beyond a doubt, but he was sure that this was the decision Hannah would have taken as well. If this battle was lost, there would be no world for their children to return to.

He wondered where Harry and Ron were, and how soon it would be before they joined him and their families. He knew Ginny Weasley and Hannah were already on their way to Hogwarts, along with a number of their old school friends; the trusty Galleon infused with Hermione's Protean Charm still worked beautifully. After watching the different groups bound off into the darkness, he had started to feel a little doubtful. They were rushing off to defend themselves from who knows what; only three people in their group could predict what came through those trees- the Scamanders and Hagrid. Personally, Neville didn't want to ask. He gazed into the night sky, so blanketed with clouds that a pale, misty, white shroud seemed to descend from the heavens as a poor excuse for moonlight. Almost starting, he stared in horror at the ascending moon- a sphere of white tinged with icy blue splotches, slowly glowing brighter and brighter as the clouds began to pull apart like translucent curtains.

A singular beam of moonlight flashed into the world below. Immediately, the howling began.

James had felt horribly reckless until then, knowing fully well that the risks that he had taken all his life were _nothing_ compared to the rage that had overcome him minutes ago, when he bellowed at his fellow classmates and his seniors, convincing them to join him to fight. Luna had already made it clear, with a sharpness that did not suit her, that sixteen was the age limit. There was much protest. Nuo gazed at him forlornly with moist eyes, but he shook his head, making her huff with anger. Albus and Scorpius glowered in the corner of the Slytherin Common Room, shooting daggers at Lucio and him, who were filtering out the younger ones in the group.

Teddy, Rolf, four Aurors, and about twenty students, including James and Lucio, stood guard at the benches at the back of the castle. After a quick scan at James' map, the adults had determined that this point would be the most dangerous- the most susceptible to attack. The sheer openness of the area fortunately made for a widely spread defense. Percy was with a smaller group some distance away, close to the Quidditch field. Dominique was with her cousin, perhaps the safest she could be. James wondered if it were wise to place the weakest defense before the big doors to the castle- only three remained to deny the enemy entry. Undeniably, the trio that stood guard had defended Hogwarts not once but several times. James shook his fears off; the Minister for Magic, Rubeus Hagrid, and the Headmistress didn't need any help whatsoever.

When the howls filled the night, a chill spread over his entire body. It was nothing like the sheer cold of a Dementor's presence. It was sharp, like the entire world had suddenly been brought into focus. Beside him, Lucio exhaled as if in just a moment, he would shoot off the ground on his _Firebolt_ to catch the Golden Snitch. The feeling that James had felt in the morning, just as he closed his fingers around the Snitch, was a similar cushion of sound and a dangerous sense of calmness. All around him, he noticed the Aurors stretch their arms, crack their knuckles, and draw their wands; some of them slipped out of their cloaks, unaffected by the temperature. Teddy began drawing all his blue hair into a bundle, before tying it swiftly into a long ponytail. Rolf had pulled off his cloak, revealing a crumpled white shirt, unbuttoned at the sleeves to let his long scars shine in the moonlight.

"The ordinary spell won't work on werewolves as it does humans. Use the grounds. Don't stay in the same spot as much as possible, because they will not," said Rolf, his stance reminding James of when Hagrid attempted to placate an angry creature during one of their lessons. The only thing different was that here, Rolf Scamander held a shining wand in his left hand. His instructions were short, vague, and not very helpful; at least, James and Lucio could only frown in response. Teddy and the Aurors nodded.

And when the first werewolves loped out of the woods, James understood. There were four- big long-bodied creatures with lean, corded muscles visible even in the darkness. He could hear them slather the moment they emerged. The illustrations in his Defense against the Dark Arts text book did not do justice to the evil ferocity that a werewolf seemed to possess. They were much larger than he expected them to be. Immediately, Teddy flicked his wrist with inhuman speed. A solid wall of stone erupted from the ground like a massive stalagmite. James heard a sickening crunch as the first pair sprinted headlong into the wall. As the other two edged around the stone, gaining ground with every huge stride, Rolf shot twin jets of sparkling silver light towards the wolves, hitting them squarely in the chest. With a whimper, the wolves collapsed face-first, their breath strangled.

Then, like a wall of fur materializing out of thin air, the air was filled with the breath of the werewolves. Rolf yelled, "MOVE!" making everyone scatter immediately. They retreated further back towards the stone benches, closer and closer to the castle. Suddenly, the square itself was lit up in colors. The students, enraged at the unwelcome presence of the werewolves, shouted a barrage of curses, crumbling the beasts as they ran. James fired Stunning spells into the crowd of wolves, before spinning around to see a pair sprinting, paws flying, into the corridor behind them. He bounded after them, not having to run far to see their claws shining.

" _Confringo!"_ he yelled, and with a violent explosion, the stone cracked and fell, heavy fragments of sharp rock cascading atop the wolves, rendering them incapacitated instantly. He noticed a blaze of light in the distance, and knew that the bright lights of the Greenhouses had been turned on, hopefully blinding the werewolves with the flash.

When James returned to Lucio, the Slytherin wizard stood back to back with Quinn Finnigan and Teddy, who was causing havoc in the ranks of the enemy. The seconds became minutes, and they were all blurred together. James found his mind moving at breakneck speed, casting nonverbal spells on instinct, as if his jaws had stopped working altogether. Teddy had no need for such frivolous things as explosion spells. He moved his hand like an orchestra conductor, his wand slashing through the werewolves like butter. When they came too close, he blasted them away. When three of the wolves leapt towards Lucio, he cast a shield charm powerful enough to bodily repel them, before the boys stunned the beasts.

The world was moving so quickly around them that they did not notice the additional presences joining their bloody battle. James saw creatures out of textbooks appearing out of the darkness. A massive troll, clutching a club as big as his whole body, swung wildly. An Auror was lifted off his feet, unable to react. James saw him slam into the ground twenty feet away, immobile. Rolf roared in fury, jumping in the troll's way. James saw him make a sharp cutting motion, and the big beast howled in pain, blood dripping down his thick trunk of a leg. Before it could heft its mighty club, Scamander sent a wall of arrows, sharp and shining brightly, into its thick skull. The troll toppled forward, its body hitting the ground with an earth-shattering thud.

A horrifying animal leaped out of the forest- with a scaly, reptilian tail, a furry goat's torso, and a snarling lion's head, the Chimaera bared its fangs at him. As fear gripped him, James raised his wand, a spell that he had never used in his life coming to his mind instantly. He had seen it used, and heard talk of its past usage, but he had never thought of its violent incantation holding a wand. As the Chimaera drew closer with every loping stride, he slashed his wand like a knife.

 _SECTUMSEMPRA!_

Spurts of blood filled the air, and the beast crashed to the ground. James gazed at his own hands, shocked by what he had done. Had his father invented this horrifying spell? He was only brought out of his reverie when Lucio gripped him by the forearm and dragged him out of reach of the oncoming Acromantula.

Teddy was suddenly isolated from the rest of them, standing atop a bench, his wand waving wildly around him, sending flaming creatures everywhere, engulfing the beasts attacking the square in an inferno of illumination. He noticed James and Lucio clambering over the bodies of the fallen, students and creatures alike, still filled with the will to fight. The boys stunned everything they saw, using teamwork to take down the more daunting beasts. Even as he sent a huge, gleaming wolf Patronus towards the Dementors descending from the sky, Teddy noticed James Potter point his wand at a beast whose fangs were bloody and sunk into the neck of one of his fallen classmates. In the chaos, Teddy did not hear his raw yell, but he saw the werewolf bend backwards like he would snap, his eyes wide and his jaws open in a scream. As the next troll bounded towards them, shaking the earth, he put incredible force into his next spell.

" _Imperio!"_

Using magic to jump higher than possible, Teddy clambered onto the troll's neck, gripping him by his hairy ears. His wand at the ready, he began directing the troll towards his allies. In moments, the invading beasts were slammed left and right by a gigantic wooden club, with Teddy sending curses that connected with tooth, claw, fang, and fur. The troll's tough, armor-like skin reduced the damage it was dealt, but the deep gouges left in the lumbering beast by a pride of Sphinxes had made it less steady than before. Rivulets of blood slowly made their way down its body.

He was convinced that this was nothing but the beginning- only a sliver of what their enemy could manage- for even now, he was sure that the prophecy was merely taking shape. Dumbledore's painting had been taken to his old office, the safest place for conversation in this tempestuous battle. As soon as he had the chance, he needed to be there. He was sure that Percy and Hermione had the same idea. The troll crashed through the grounds, surprising beasts, students, and Aurors alike. Until they saw Teddy crouched on the troll's thick neck, they had their wands up and ready to attack. He surveyed their forces as he moved from place to place, assisting in taking down the more ferocious creatures. Neville Longbottom and his daughter Alice were battling a pair of Sphinxes, both swift and cautious of the opposing pair. The creatures leapt nimbly from left to right, avoiding narrowly the numerous jets of light sent at them. It was not until Neville collapsed the soil that the Sphinxes went down under Alice's keen spell work.

Francis, someone Teddy had never had the chance to speak to, even at dinner parties at the Burrow, strongly reminded him of Hermione. Spectacles askew, white Hogwarts shirt gleaming in the moonlight, the boy was holding his own better than the Aurors around him. Only Neville had as much presence of mind in combat that day, but the grace with which his son pointed and cut with his wand was inimitable. Like Hermione, he seemed to have command of every single spell known to mankind. And he seemed to understand the intricacies of how these spells worked, casting them repeatedly with no visible effort save for the sweat traveling down his face. The Aurors rallied around Francis, and the attacking Manticores and werewolves seemed to be repelled by the light of their wand work.

When the troll staggered towards the courtyard, Teddy might have been hit by a curse and he wouldn't have noticed. McGonagall, Hermione, and Hagrid were unmoved pillars, trembling bodies littered ahead and around them. Werewolves, Manticores, Chimaeras, Acromantula, and all manner of creatures Teddy could not recognize were part of the blue-tinged landscape; Hermione's blue-bell colored flames lit up the grass- beside the Marauder's Map. Like the Niffler assumedly still lying in wait for death, many of these creatures moved feebly, permanently held in their separate worlds of pain. With horror, he realized that their strategy had been entirely wrong. Their first thought had been that, much like Voldemort's forces in the Second Wizarding War many years ago, the enemy sought to eradicate magical blood. It seemed a very logical assumption, all along, to Teddy and Hermione. She had shared with him the details of the Gold Brotherhood, and the name sounded very familiar in his head.

In his Seventh Year of Hogwarts, as Head Boy, he had had enough and more time to wander in Madam Pince's extensive and now-restored library. The Restricted Section had grown larger and larger with time, he was told by Hermione, especially after the War- something about a more open-minded view on education. His capacity to enter and borrow books as he pleased led him to spend major chunks of his time buried among the shelves. History had always been an interesting subject to him; he initially began reading as much as he could on his mother and father- on their abilities and adventures, their lifetimes in Hogwarts, their careers. But soon, he found himself engrossed in the world that preceded theirs. He spent countless hours with Professor Binns, who had never been approached in his chambers before by a student. The stunned ghost Professor responded with such enthusiasm that he seemed to come alive. They spoke enough to fill up reams and reams of parchment, and this was precisely why, when Hermione mentioned the Gold Brotherhood to him, his mind began wandering into the recesses of the past, of his days reading about the Sacred Twenty Eight families and what they truly stood for.

He had felt he had been astute when he thought about it- if the Gold Brotherhood attacked the school, they would attempt to destroy it. And yet, as the minutes wore on, he had seen that the enemy remained behind the lines as much as possible, only attacking in waves. The idea that the beasts were instructed to gain entry and not simply destroy flabbergasted him. What could be in the castle that the Gold Brotherhood desired? The troll under Teddy began stumbling- the strength of the Imperius curse was too strong for it to withstand any longer. He leapt off it as it crashed down onto two very surprised werewolves. Smiling grimly, he stood beside the trio guarding the castle. If anything, the decoy tactic had not worked- this was an impenetrable defense.

Hermione's wand work was intricate, and yet filled with such power that even the bigger, thicker skinned animals could not withstand a single hit. Dangerous and beautiful shapes leapt from the tip of her wand, scorching the earth as her opponents quailed. Her eyes hard and flickering, Teddy had no doubt that Hermione knew very well that her family would be in danger if she hesitated even momentarily. Hagrid's umbrella swished gracefully like a metronome, his spells doing things Teddy had not seen any wizard do. Like Rolf Scamander, Hagrid's understanding of how to act around ferocious magical creatures made him excellent at keeping the enemy at bay. The grass turned slippery as the animals sprinted, the trees bordering the Forbidden Forest bent into a crude fence, and any animal that tried to assault Hagrid was simply knocked unconscious by a tremendously powerful _Stupefy_ curse. McGonagall was like she was as she addressed the students in the Great Hall- stern, sharp, and absolute. She transfigured the creatures around her- into gerbils and ferrets- and in the same movement caused silver cages that encased the creatures to appear. The more fierce animals did not receive such mercy. As he arrived on the scene, McGonagall had slashed a wide arc in the air, and the pair of Acromantula rushing towards her on their spindly, scuttling legs flared up in bright flames. An audible sizzle filled the air, along with the smell of burning meat.

"They're trying to get into the castle," he said as he sent a _Confringo_ curse flying into the darkness. With a resounding _boom,_ the grounds were lit up for a moment, allowing him to see the flailing Manticore fly high into the air. Hermione and McGonagall turned with wide eyes. He quickly relayed to them what he had seen- how the majority of the enemy's forces concentrated on this particular area, how the enemy seemed to not want to raze Hogwarts to the ground. He left out how he had noticed that Rolf Scamander's most dangerous nightmares had not come true just yet.

"We need to speak to Dumbledore-" said Teddy, his gaze flickering between Hermione and the battle.

"And understand the prophecy before it unfolds around us," she finished, sending an accurate _Confundus_ spell straight between the eyes of an oncoming troll.

There was a sudden silence ahead of them, as if time had paused. The four of them stared into the darkness, listening hard. Something was growing louder by the second, and with shock, Teddy turned to see a huge group of werewolves running towards them, fangs dripping with saliva and blood. The four of them raised their wands, about to unleash death on the oncoming army, but as the group approached, they were falling one by one. Close behind them, sprinting headlong into the enemy forces were Neville, Rolf, and James Potter, and Francis. By the time the enemy reached Teddy, there was a lone Manticore, its coat glistening in the moonlight. It surveyed the ring it was surrounded by, immediately bounding away and into the forest.

"We waited, but they stopped attacking. Figured you were right," panted Neville, clutching his side. Teddy had yelled to him as he passed- of the possibility that the true purpose of the attack lay beyond the door to the castle. Either the idea was to gain access to the dungeons and kill the students, or perhaps, in an unlikely way, Gryffindor Tower. Hermione nodded.

"Can you handle this?" she asked him, and he drew himself up, pulling his cloak over his shoulders. She knew just then, that she didn't need to ask such a question. Like her, his children were behind those doors, and every child he had taught. The Auror in Neville Longbottom, like his permanent position in Dumbledore's Army, had never quite disappeared. She shared a moment of eye contact with Neville just then, and it seemed that they shared more than the simplicity of their gazes. She saw the years that lay done and dusted behind them, the days spent in the castle together, the friends they had lost. As she looked into his eyes, Neville's own turned moist, as if the memories poured into him through her. He inclined his head, a fury in his eyes that she had seen before. He turned his back to her, confident he would see her again.

Hermione heard a low, swooping sound, turning just in time for Teddy to sail towards her on a _Firebolt,_ his arm extended. Percy followed close behind. Grasping Teddy's forearm, she was lifted off the ground and towards the high office of Minerva McGonagall.


End file.
